Chanter Roureide 2


    Chapter 80<b>: </b>Suicide–2


    <b>Noah’s </b>eyes widened at the implication – Connor was essentially offering them pack status, something they’d lived without for years.


    Connor’s phone buzzed again. After checking the message, he turned to me apologetically. “I need to handle some pack business, Will you be alright here for a while?”


    I nodded, squeezing his hand. “Of course, I promised Leah Id help with her makeup today anyway


    After Connor left, I texted Jade Mitchell, who arrived twenty minutester carrying a small cosmetics bag.


    1 brought everything you asked for,” she said, slightly breathless from rushing. “How’s Leah doing today?”


    “Better than ever,” I replied, leading her to Leah’s <b>room</b>. “They found a donor match.”


    ng news!”


    Jade’s face lit up with genuine happiness. “That’s amazing


    When we entered Leah’s room, the young girl was sitting up in bed, her cream woolen hat- my gift to her – pulled snugly over her head. Her eyes brightened when she saw us.


    “Sister Olivia! Sister Jade!” she eximed, her voice stronger than I’d heard it before. “You came!”


    “Of course we did,” I replied, sitting on the edge of her bed. “I promised to show you how to do makeup,


    remember?”


    For the next hour, Jade and I carefully applied light makeup to Leah’s pale face – a touch of blush to bring color to her cheeks, subtle eyeshadow to brighten her eyes, and a tinted lip balm to add a healthy glow to her


    lips.


    When we finished, I handed her a small mirror. Leah gasped as she saw her reflection, tears welling in her


    eyes.


    “Sister Olivia, Sister Jade, this is the first time I’ve seen myself look so beautiful,” she whispered, touching her


    face gently.


    The cream woolen hat I’d given herplemented her made–up face perfectly, giving the sickly girl a moment of normalcy and joy that made my heart swell with emotion.


    (Ethan’s POV)


    The hospital room was quiet except for the steady beeping of monitors and the asional footsteps passing in the hallway outside.


    I stared at the ceiling, counting the tiles for what must have been the hundredth time today. Twenty–four across, sixteen down. Three hundred and eighty–four tiles total.


    The door opened, and my heart leapt with hope before immediately crashing back down when I saw it was just another pack membering to check on me.


    “Alpha Heir Grey,” the beta said respectfully, cing a fruit basket on the side table. “The pack sends their wishes for your swift recovery.”


    I nodded mechanically, not bothering to respond verbally. What was the <b>point</b>? The only voice I wanted to hear wouldn’t being through that door.


    口


    <b>Throughout </b>the <b>day</b>, the pattern repeated. The <b>door </b><b>would </b><b>open</b><b>, </b><b>my </b><b>hope </b><b>would </b>fare, and then de ure <b>someone </b>other than Olivia entered.


    Jason Mitchelle by around noon, looking ufortable as he stood at the foot of <b>my </b><b>bed</b>.


    <b>“</b>The doctors say you can be discharged tomorrow,” he said, trying to sound upbeat. “That’s <b>good </b><b>news </b>Hight?”


    I turned my face toward the window, watching snowkes drift past the ss. “Has she called?” I asked<b>, </b>my voice rough from disuse.


    Jason’s silence was answer enough.


    As afternoon faded into evening and the hospital lights dimmed for the night, despair settled over me like a physical weight. The darkness outside my window matched the emptiness growing inside me


    My wolf, once proud and dominant, now whimpered pathetically, convinced that Olivia would never return to us. The pain was unbearable – not the physical difort of recovering from hypothermia, but the soul–crushing agony of knowing she was with another.


    I reached under my pillow, fingers closing around the cold metal I’d managed to hide there earlier when <b>a </b>distracted nurse had left a surgical tray unattended.


    The silver scalpel gleamed dully in the dim <b>light</b>. My wolf recoiled at the sight of it, instinctively recognizing


    the danger.


    But what was the point of continuing without her? What was the point of anything?


    Liv, what’s the point of living without you?


    The thought echoed in my mind as I pressed the silver de against my wrist, feeling its burn even before breaking skin.


    (Margaret’s POV)


    I hurried down the hospital corridor, thermal container in hand. The nurses had told me Ethan hadn’t eaten all day, refusing the hospital food they’d brought him.


    “Such a stubborn boy,” I muttered to myself, though worry gnawed at my insides. The nurses‘ concerned expressions had only heightened my anxiety,


    I’d prepared his favorite dishes myself – something I hadn’t done in years. Perhaps thefort of home–cooked food would help lift his spirits,


    When I reached his room, I knocked lightly before pushing the door open. “Ethan, dear, I’ve brought you some


    dinner-”


    The words died in my throat as I took in the scene before me. Ethan sat upright in bed, a silver de pressed against his wrist. Blood – darkened with the poisonous metal – already trickled down his arm.


    A scream tore from my throat, primal and terrified. “ETHAN!”


    I dropped the container, lunging forward to knock the de from his hand. It ttered to the <b>floor </b><b>as </b>I grabbed his bleeding wrist, my wolf instincts ring in panic.


    “Ethan! Ethan, don’t do anything stupid! Don’t scare your mother<b>, </b>don’t be like this!” I pleaded, pressing a towel against the wound.


    His eyes were vacant, unfocused, as if he couldn’t even hear me. <b>Blood </b>continued to seep through the towel, the silver already working its poison into his systemi


    “Help!” I screamed toward the door. “Somebody help us!”


    A nurse appeared in the doorway, her eyes widening in horror at the scene. She immediately pressed an emergency button, calling for assistance.


    “It hurts so much, Liv,” Ethan whispered, his voice barely audible. “My heart really hurts.”


    Doctors and nurses rushed into the room, pushing me aside <b>as </b>they worked to stabilize him. I watched, helpless, as they lifted him onto a gurney and rushed him toward the operating room to treat the silver poisoning now coursing through his bloodstream.


    I copsed against the wall in the corridor, my legs no longer able to support me. Tears streamed down my face as I buried my head in my hands.


    “Ethan, why are you so foolish!” I sobbed, my body shaking uncontrobly.