Dusk Till Dawn

11

Disclaimer: This chapter contains explicit scenes and mature content that may not be suitable for all readers. Reader discretion is advised.

Freya

I blink my eyes open, the low hum of the jet settling around me like a distant echo. My body feels heavy, as if it's been weighed down by an invisible force. I try to sit up, but everything feels... wrong. My chest is tight, my breath shallow, and my heart is racing in a way that makes me feel both trapped and far away at the same time.

"Freya," a deep voice says from beside me.

I turn my head, blinking against the dim light in the cabin. Zio Hades is there, sitting next to me with his usual calm, but there's something in his eyes—something I've never seen before. Concern? No, more than that. His hand is on my wrist, firm but gentle, as if he's afraid I'll slip away.

"What... what happened?" I manage to ask, my voice thin, trembling more than I want it to.

He doesn't answer immediately. Instead, he glances down at a small device in his hand, checking something. My heart pounds harder.

"You passed out," he says finally, his voice low and steady, but I can hear the weight behind it. "Your heartbeat spiked. Too fast. Almost like you were—"

He stops himself, and I see his jaw tense. Panic? No. Zio Hades doesn't panic. But that flicker of something—it's not just concern. He's watching me too closely, like he's looking for something... something wrong.

Almost like I was what? I want to ask, but the words get stuck in my throat. Instead, a cold shiver runs through me, and I feel like I'm back in the room—the one I can never quite leave behind. The images flood back too fast.

I clench my fists, trying to ground myself, but my fingers feel numb.

Zio Hades' hand tightens ever so slightly on my wrist. "Breathe, Freya," he says quietly. "Slowly. Focus on your breathing."

I try, but my chest feels tight. Too tight.

I'm not there. I'm not there.

But why does it feel like I am?

Zio Hades keeps his hand on my wrist, his voice low as he speaks. "Freya, this isn't just stress or exhaustion. You're showing signs of something more. I think... you might have PTSD."

I blink, confusion tugging at me. "What?" My voice cracks as I pull my wrist from his hand, sitting up straighter despite the weight pressing down on my chest. "I don't know what that is, Zio. I'm fine."

He leans forward, his eyes steady, calm in that way that usually makes me feel safe. "Post-traumatic stress disorder," he explains, as if that's supposed to clear things up. "It's when you've gone through something—something you can't just shake off, and it keeps following you, even when you're not in danger anymore."

I shake my head, a strange mix of confusion and frustration rising in me. "But I'm fine," I insist again. "I'm just... tired."

"Freya." His voice softens, but there's something unbreakable beneath it. "Passing out like that? The nightmares, the panic—you've been through too much, and you're carrying it all alone." He pauses, his gaze gentle but firm. "It's not something you can just ignore."

I look away, clenching my fists in my lap. "I don't need help. I can handle it. I just—"

"Freya," he cuts me off gently, like a father would. "I know you're strong. I've seen it for years. But this isn't something strength alone can fix. You need to talk to someone who knows how to help you through this."