Chapter 9: The Cost
The cost of the gift was not abstract.
It was blood.
It was exhaustion that lasted days.
It was the way Ethan’s hands shook after every use, the way his vision blurred, the way he woke from nightmares of flat lines and his mother’s voice telling him to stop before there was nothing left of him.
After the second rescue of Walter, Ethan slept for fourteen hours. When he woke, Walter was sitting beside the bed with soup and a look of guilt so deep it hurt to see.
“You can’t do this again,” Walter said.
Ethan ate the soup because his body demanded it. “If you die, I have no one.”
Walter’s hand trembled on the bowl. “If you keep using it like this, you will die before me. Your mother lasted longer because she learned to limit it. You’re giving everything every time.”
The truth sat between them like a third person in the room.
Ethan had brought Noah back.
He had brought Walter back twice.
Each time the gift took a piece of him he could not name. A piece of memory. A piece of strength. A piece of the boy he had been before the gift became the only thing that kept people alive.
Outside the safe house, Horizon Pavilion’s net tightened. Quiet inquiries. Camera checks. A reward offered through back channels for any sighting of a boy matching Ethan’s description. Victor Carter wanted the gift. Celeste wanted the leverage. William wanted answers.
Inside, Ethan looked at his grandfather and made a quiet promise.
“I’ll be careful.”
Walter knew the boy was lying.
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The gift did not allow careful.
It only allowed cost.
