Chapter 8 - The midnight fever
The fragile peace shattered at two in the morning. Juliet was jolted awake by the shrill beep of the medical monitors in Brandon's room. She sprinted down the hall, her bare feet slapping against the wood.
Brandon was thrashing, his fever having spiked to a dangerous high. His fair skin was alarmingly pale, and his breathing was shallow. The private doctor was already there, working frantically.
Juliet stood in the corner, sobbing quietly, entirely helpless. Suddenly, Ethan wheeled into the room, his dark hair messy, wearing only sweatpants and a t-shirt. He didn't ask questions; he simply moved next to Juliet and took her trembling hand in his large, warm grasp.
They stayed awake until the sun began to peek over the horizon. The stark morning light filtered in, casting long shadows across the floor. Finally, the doctor stepped back with a sigh of relief. The fever had broken. Brandon was going to be okay.
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Juliet collapsed against the wall, sliding down to the floor in pure exhaustion. Ethan wheeled himself over to her, reaching out to gently wipe a stray tear from her rosy cheek.
As he pulled his hand back, the doctor approached Ethan, holding a medical chart. "Sir," the doctor whispered, though in the quiet room, Juliet heard every word. "I ran the blood panels as you asked. The boy's genetic markers... they match the file. She is exactly who we thought she was."
