Bloodlines & Bonds [ii]
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Chapter 8(ii): Bloodlines & Bonds
POV: Luke
The infirmary lights buzzed low, dimmed to something less sterile. My side still ached from the gash, but the meds had dulled it enough to think straight. Bandages stretched across my ribs, white against the purple bruises blooming beneath.
Footsteps. I didn't need to look up to know who.
"Hey," I said, wincing as I adjusted on the cot. "Didn't think you'd visit. You hate hospitals."
Grey stood near the doorway, arms crossed. Same blank expression, same silence. But his eyes held something else—something colder, tighter.
"I don't hate hospitals," he said finally. "I hate what they remind me of."
I smirked. "Fair. But I appreciate the visit. You didn't have to."
"I know," he said. Then, after a beat, "You're still terrible at dodging."
"Still better than you at drawing."
That got the faintest upward twitch of his mouth.
We sat in silence for a bit. Comfortable. Familiar.
"Remember the old alley behind the school?" I asked. "Where you used to sketch those weird post-apocalyptic cityscapes?"
"You mean the ones you kept smudging with your elbow?"
"Art needs drama."
"You were the drama."
He rolled his eyes, and I caught the soft breath of a chuckle. It was small, almost lost—but it was real.
The door creaked.
Blair paused at the threshold, towel draped around her neck, hair still damp from a shower. She looked at me, then at Grey—heard the sound of our laughter, light but rare—and slowly backed out without a word.
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POV: Blair
I turned away from the door, quiet steps echoing down the hall.
I wasn't sure what I expected walking in on them. Not that.
Grey laughing? Even a little? Weirdest part of my day.
Maybe they needed the moment more than I did.
I made it halfway across the corridor when Jonah rounded the corner, guitar case slung over one shoulder like a shield he forgot how to use.
"Thought you were heading to see Luke?" he asked.
"I was. Changed my mind."
He raised a brow. "Why?"
I shrugged. "He's laughing. With Grey."
Jonah whistled low. "No shit. Grey laughs?"
"Apparently."
We walked in step for a bit, slower than usual.
"You remember when Mom used to take us hiking up north?" he asked suddenly.
"Yeah." My voice softened. "Right before the divorce."
He nodded. "You always tried to outpace me on the rocks. Said you wanted to be a ninja."
I smirked. "I just wanted to keep up with Mom. She trained like she had something to prove."
"She did," Jonah said, adjusting the strap on his shoulder. "But so did you. After every practice, you'd still go back out and train harder."
I nudged his arm. "And you'd sulk on the porch with that damn guitar."
"It was the only way I could tune out you jumping over every wall and bench."
We both laughed.
Then Jonah glanced over. "I know you try to protect me. Even now. You always step in first."
"Someone has to," I said. "You're all heart. I'm the caution."
He looked down. "Maybe. But we're both still here."
And for a second, that was enough.
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POV: Jane
Night had settled soft and heavy. Stars scattered across a cracked sky.
I spotted Scarlett near the outer fence, bottle in hand, shoulders hunched like she was trying to disappear.
I sat beside her without a word.
After a long sip, she offered the bottle. I shook my head.
She glanced over. "My dad drank after Mom died. Didn't talk much. Just… drifted."
I nodded, watching the distant shadows shift between the tents.
"Family's strange," I said quietly. "The way it shapes us. The way we either run from it or run back."
Scarlett laughed, but it was thin. "Or try to recreate it with strangers who shoot well."
I gave her a small smile. "We all survive however we can."
She looked at me, eyes glassy but focused. "You think we'll ever stop surviving?"
I didn't answer.
Couldn't.. not really.
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POV: Jane (continued)
Scarlett eventually handed me the bottle anyway. I took a small sip, wincing at the burn. Not for the taste—just for the memories it dragged up.
"My older sister used to sneak drinks like this," I said. "Always said it made the world slow down."
Scarlett glanced sideways. "Did it?"
"No. It made her reckless."
She nodded slowly, letting the bottle dangle between her fingers.
We sat a while longer in that silence—the kind only people who've lost too much can share without needing to fill it.
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POV: Blair (Later that Night)
The dorms were quieter now. A soft buzz of muffled talking and the occasional cough. I leaned against the window frame of our temporary shelter, arms crossed, watching the flickering lights around the fence perimeter.
Jonah had gone to tune his guitar again, he picked it up during on of our routine checks , they let him keep it. He never played loud. Just enough to keep his fingers busy. Keep his mind from racing.
I'd offered to cut his hair earlier. He declined, said it reminded him of the old days. Back when Mom used to cut it in the living room while he whined like a brat.
We both missed her. He more than he let on.
I sighed and looked out into the dark again, thinking about how different we all were two months ago. How soft.
Now even the way we breathed had changed. Calmer. Calculated.
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POV: Luke (Early Morning)
I woke before dawn.
Still sore. Still stiff. But better.
The sky was just starting to shift, a pale blue stretching above the horizon. For a moment, it felt almost normal—like waking up at camp before morning runs. Before Jonah would complain about the food, and Scarlett would beat us all at warm-ups.
Can't believe it's been 2 months since this all began
The past few weeks moved in a flash , getting treated... getting visits
The annoying briefing that night
It all feels like a dream
It wasn't.
The tent flap rustled. Grey stepped in, holding two mugs of what smelled like very bitter coffee.
"Doctor cleared you for training tomorrow," he said, handing me a cup.
I took it, eyeing the steam. "You think I'll die trying to jog?"
"You'd die slower than usual."
I chuckled. "You've gotten better at jokes."
"You've gotten worse at standing."
We sat in silence for a while.
"Thanks for coming by yesterday," I said.
Grey gave a slight nod. "It's nothing."
"It's not nothing".
His gaze drifted. "I didn't like the look in his eyes. The soldier"
"I didn't like the way you moved. That wasn't just fighting, Grey."
He didn't reply at first. He refused to talk about it since then.Then:
"I'm starting to remember things. From before all this. Things that feel important."
"About Eva?"
A brief twitch in his jaw. He didn't answer.
Instead, he glanced down at his hands. "I'll figure it out. But until then… I'll protect what's left."
I nodded. "You always did."
He looked up. "You just never noticed."
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POV: Jonah (Meanwhile)
The sun broke slow over the camp. I sat outside with my guitar, strumming soft chords that didn't go anywhere. I wasn't writing. Just remembering.
I could feel Blair watching from the other side of the yard. We didn't talk again this morning—but we didn't need to.
She'd braided her hair back the way Mom used to, and for a second, it made my chest ache. Like time bent backward just enough to sting.
We weren't perfect. But we were trying.
All of us.
In our own, scarred ways.
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