𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐎𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐒𝐢𝐝𝐞 || 𝐗-𝐌𝐄𝐍 ||

𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞

˗ˏˋ꒰🃏꒱

𝟏𝟖𝟒𝟓

Young James Howlett sat in bed, coughing and shivering under a thick blanket. His twin sister, Milo Howlett, stood beside him, concern etched on her young face. Next to her was Harper Storm, their close friend, equally worried.

"You're always sick," Victor Creed, their older half-brother, remarked casually as he sharpened his long claws with a switchblade. His tone was more matter-of-fact than sympathetic.

Milo shot him a look. "You were sick when you were our age," she retorted, defending her brother.

Just then, the door creaked open, and John Howlett entered the room. "Evening, sir," Victor greeted, quickly rising from his chair and slipping the switchblade behind his back.

John's gaze flickered to Victor. "Evening, Victor. I didn't realize you were still here," he said, his voice calm but slightly surprised.

"I was just keeping James and Milo company, sir, if that's all right," Victor replied, his tone respectful.

John nodded, appreciating the gesture. "Very kind of you," he said before walking over to the bed and sitting on its edge. He brushed a lock of hair from James's forehead, his touch gentle. "Any better, son?" he asked softly.

James looked up at his father, his voice weak. "Still cold, Father."

John offered a reassuring smile. "Just a mild fever. You'll be all right in the morning," he assured his son.

James's expression remained doubtful. "You always say that," he mumbled.

John chuckled softly. "And you always pull through, don't you?" he replied, his tone encouraging.

James nodded slowly. "Yeah," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Turning to Harper, John asked, "How are you feeling?"

Harper glanced at Milo, then back at John. "I'm fine," she replied, trying to sound confident.

John nodded, his eyes finally landing on Milo. "And what about you, Milo?"

Milo met his gaze and nodded. "I'm also fine."

John gave her an approving nod before turning back to James. "Now, have you taken your medicine?" he asked, reaching for the bottle on the nightstand.

Before James could answer, a loud bang echoed from downstairs, followed by a voice shouting, "Elizabeth! Elizabeth!" The urgency in the voice sent a chill through the room, freezing everyone in place.

John continued to look at James, his expression hardening. "Your father is drunk again," he said quietly, still focused on the young boy lying in bed.

"Elizabeth!" The voice from downstairs grew louder, more desperate.

Victor shifted uncomfortably, glancing at John, who still hadn't moved from his spot by the bed. "You should help him home, Victor," John said, his voice carrying a note of resignation.

Victor's eyes narrowed slightly. "It's not my name he's calling, sir," he responded, his tone edged with defiance.

John finally tore his gaze away from James and looked at Victor, realization dawning on him. Without another word, he rose from the bed and rushed out of the room, urgency in his steps.