You've got it wrong

Jason's POV

Jason stared at the closed door for a long moment after the knock. It still rang in his ears—too heavy, too deliberate to be casual. His gut told him what his mind hadn’t caught up with yet: this wasn’t a polite interruption.

It was a message.

He pushed off from the couch, rubbing a hand down his face. The peace they'd clawed out of the last hour—hot water, whispered promises, truth exchanged in steam and shadow—fractured in an instant.

Mark stood on the other side of the door, dressed in the dark gray uniform of the Blackstone field staff, his expression as tightly locked as a door with the deadbolt drawn.

“Gamma,” Jason greeted tersely. “This better be important.”

“It is.” Mark gave a short nod, eyes flicking briefly past Jason into the room beyond. “Celeste is in the infirmary. She was brought in after being found seriously injured on the labyrinth floor from the second round. She’s awake now and asking for you. Alone.”