Page 123 of Never the Same

He slowly looked up at me. “I watched Tristan do it myself,” he said firmly. “Aside from the antidotes, at least.”

“Any chance your wife can turn that antidote into a cure for anyone with memory loss issues?”

“Maybe. Probably take some time. But between her and Tristan, it’s possible. Maybe one day.” He nodded, letting a few quiet moments pass before he changed gears. “It looks like the only thing we didn’t see coming was Lyra. Hollis’s cousins and everyone else in her family were cleared. No idea how they’ll forgive her after what she did.”

The idea of forgiveness sat like glass in my throat, jagged and slicing when I tried to swallow.

“Gideon and Sebastian brought Lyra to a mental health facility in Dublin. It’ll be up to her family to decide how long to keep her there.” I barely had a chance to absorb that news before he shared, “I have to head back to the airport and pick up my wife and son.” He gestured down the hall, and for a split second, I caught the strain in his jawline, the exhaustion riding his shoulders.

I turned to see the woman I had no idea how I’d live without on her way over.

“Reach out if Gwen wakes up before I’m back,” he said before parting ways.

I tossed my coffee in the trash as Hollis joined me. “You okay?”

She lifted one shoulder. “My brothers told me about Lyra and where she’s at. I, um, just . . .” Her voice cracked. “I can’t help but blame her for what happened to Gwen, even if it’s not directly her fault.”

Understandable.

“I was wondering if you’d come somewhere with me?”

I held her hand, drawing her knuckles to my mouth, kissing them. “Anywhere.”

She quietly led the way down the hall, into the elevator, and all the way outside the doors of a chapel.

I froze, boots rooted in place, my palm slipping against hers as my heart rate spiked. “I actually haven’t been back . . . well, since that day.”

Reasons why I didn’t belong here rose, pulling me under like quicksand. The enemy’s voice slithered in, whispering I’d never be good enough, never live up to the expectations of—

“I thought we could pray for Gwen.” Her words pierced the noise in my head. “Juliette seems to think it’ll help.”

Chills rushed beneath my clothes, goose bumps standing sharp on my arms, and the hair at the nape of my neck lifted. Something unseen pulled me forward. So I did it. Took one step. Then another. With this woman at my side, I crossed the threshold.

It was empty. A nondenominational space, welcoming all faiths to worship, hushed and still. The faint smell of candle wax lingered with the sterile tang of disinfectant, a strange mix of holy and hospital.

We walked down the narrow aisle to the front. She kept hold of my hand as she lowered to her knees, and with my free hand, I removed my hat and mirrored her. The last time I’d been in this position, I’d been braced in battle, rifle in hand, ending lives. Now here I was, about to make a plea to save one.

I bowed my head, forced the images of war from my mind, and closed my eyes. A deep, shaky breath left my mouth.

Hollis tightened her grip on my hand and began to pray, voice soft, almost hesitant at first. Then steadier, like muscle memory carried her through. Each word echoed faintly off the chapel walls, finding me in the quiet.

And with every syllable she whispered, the vise around my chest loosened. My fists unclenched. My jaw softened. A lifetime of trauma I hadn’t realized I still carried began to slide free.

It was in that moment that I knew something had shifted, and I’d truly never be the same again.

Chapter Forty-Eight

Reed

Eighteen hours later

I couldn’t wrap my head around it, and neither could anyone else, especially Gwen’s team of doctors.

From the hall, I watched through the window as they finished their last round of tests. Everyone pressed in behind me, breaths shallow, waiting for the word that had already been passed around: miracle.

Gwen had been intubated with a severe concussion, internal bleeding, a collapsed lung, broken ribs, and a spinal fracture doctors believed would paralyze her. Yet she was not only alive, but she’d also already stood, walked, and spoken.

Walking. Talking. Fine. Impossible.