Part 2
“Don’t trust Jason.”
The words were so faint that, for one terrible second, I wondered if I had imagined them.
Ethan Thornton lay against the pillows, his face pale in the afternoon light, his lashes trembling as though the effort of opening his eyes had used every last piece of strength left inside him. His lips parted again, but no sound came out.
I leaned closer, my heart beating so loudly I could barely hear the monitor beside his bed.
“Ethan?” I whispered.
His eyes were open only halfway, unfocused and glassy, but they were open.
Alive.
Aware.
Looking at me.
I should have called the nurse. I should have shouted for Vivian, for a doctor, for anyone in the enormous house. But his warning held me still.
Don’t trust Jason.
His fingers twitched again against the sheet.
“Can you hear me?” I asked.
A slow blink.
“Yes?” I breathed.
Another blink.
My throat closed. I reached for the call button near his bed, but Ethan’s hand moved again, barely brushing the edge of the blanket. It was not enough to stop me. It was not even enough to be called a gesture.
But it felt like a plea.
“Do you not want me to call them?”
His eyes shifted.
No.
