Chapter 251

Grayson’s POV

“What the hell are you doing here?” I demanded, though I didn't release her wrist. I couldn't. My grip was tight, almost desperate, my fingers pressing into her skin as if to verify her reality. If I loosened my hold, even slightly, I feared she would vanish, swallowed by the mist, lost to the wind as I nearly had been.

Ava didn't answer immediately. She simply stared, her wide, disbelieving eyes reflecting the swirling gray of this cursed place. Her lips parted, but no sound emerged, her breath shuddering in a way that tightened something within me. Then, her voice, barely a whisper, yet brimming with emotion, stole the air from my lungs.

“You died.”

Her free hand flew to her mouth as if to contain the disbelief. Speaking the words seemed to make them real again.

“I know,” I wanted to say. I did know. But it didn't matter now. What mattered was that she was here—and she shouldn't be.

She took a shaky step closer, her body trembling. “I—” She inhaled sharply, her eyes darting over my face, memorizing me, as if terrified I would disappear. “I can’t believe it’s actually true. That you’re actually here.”

Her hands reached for me, grasping at my torn shirt, my arms—anywhere, everywhere—as if anchoring herself to this impossible reality. Her breath came in ragged gasps, her chest rising and falling too rapidly.

“Grayson, I—” Her voice broke. “I’m so sorry.”

Her face contorted with pain, her fingers tightening in my shirt. “This is all my fault.”

Then the dam broke. Her body wracked with sobs, she collapsed against me, clinging to me as if I were her only support. My arms instinctively wrapped around her, holding her close as her tears soaked my shirt.

I clenched my jaw, resting my chin on her hair, breathing her in. The weight of her. The warmth. Goddess, I had thought I would never feel this again.

I swallowed, my own emotions clawing at me. “Ava—”

She shook her head against me, her sobs muffled but persistent. “No, Grayson—if I had just—if I hadn’t—” She hiccuped, her fingers tightening further. “You wouldn’t have died.”

I exhaled sharply, cupping the back of her head. “Ava, stop. You didn’t—”

“I did! I—” She pulled back, her eyes red, her face wet with grief. “I shouldn’t have gone back, I should have done something to stop her, I should’ve—”

I gently gripped her face, my fingers pressing into her damp skin. “Stop it,” I said firmly, yet kindly. “I am still here. That’s what matters, and I’m not going anywhere.”

Her lower lip trembled, her breath still ragged, and then—a flicker of realization crossed her face. Her hands flew to her stomach.

A heavy silence fell between us, thick and suffocating. Then, without prompting, she whispered, “They’re okay.”

I sucked in a breath.

She gave a shaky nod, her eyes welling again. “I don’t know how, but I can feel it. They’re okay.”

My gaze dropped to her stomach, where her hands protectively cradled the tiny lives growing within. My children.

Something inside me—something I thought had died with me—stirred. I exhaled slowly, pressing my palm over hers, feeling her warmth, the reality of this moment. She was here. They were here, and I had to get them out.

I pulled away abruptly, clenching my jaw as I forced myself to refocus.

Ava wiped her face, sniffing before looking up. “Grayson, what was that thing?”

I scanned the shifting mist, listening to the distant, hungry howling. “It’s the wind,” I said darkly. “But not just any wind. It’s what pushes people into the afterlife.”

Her breath hitched, her hands returning to her stomach, as if shielding herself from the very idea. I exhaled sharply and pulled her close. “We need to keep moving.”

She nodded, her grip tightening on my arm.

“How are we going to get out of here?” Her voice was steadier, but the underlying fear remained.

I glanced at her, then back at the mist, where the howling wind prowled like a beast.

“I have a plan,” I said grimly. A plan born the moment I understood Jonah's actions, and the desperate fight it took to avoid the wind's grasp.

Ava’s grip tightened. “What’s the plan?”

I kept my eyes on the swirling mist, the endless gray stretching before us. The wind carried whispers—hungry, insidious, waiting. Ava’s hand was tight in mine, her knuckles white. I could still feel the warmth of her skin, a stark contrast to the icy weight of our surroundings. She was waiting.

I exhaled sharply. “There’s someone here. Someone who’s been here a while. His name is Jonah.”

Ava frowned. “What do you mean ‘been here a while’? I thought—” She hesitated, glancing around. “I thought people didn’t stay in this place.”

“They don’t. That’s the thing.” My jaw clenched, my grip tightening. “The wind takes them. It drags them into the afterlife, and no one fights it. No one can fight it.”

Ava shivered, her free hand protectively covering her stomach. “Then why is he still here?”

A humorless chuckle escaped me, bitter and sharp. “Because he made a deal. He doesn’t get taken because he helps the wind take others.”

Ava stiffened, horror dawning in her eyes. “He what?”

I met her gaze, my expression grim. “He plays the right cards. He finds those who don’t want to go, those who fight. He pretends to want to save them—but in the end, he pushes them in. My lips curled in disgust. “That’s how he stays. The wind lets him because he feeds it sacrifices. That’s exactly what he tried to do to me.”

Ava made a sound, but I didn't let her speak. “We are going to use him. Jonah has a connection to the wind, a twisted, unnatural link that lets him stay. But if we can break that connection—if we can twist it—we can use it against him.”

Her brows furrowed. “How?”

I gestured to the restless wind that had nearly claimed me. “It has a rhythm, a pattern. It doesn’t just pull—it pushes. When it takes someone, it creates a force in the opposite direction. If we can make Jonah the target, we can use that force against it.”

Realization flickered across her face.

“You’re saying…” she trailed off, her breath catching.

“We make the wind take him instead,” I said grimly, “and when it does, we ride the force it creates and push ourselves back to the other side. Back to the realm of the living.”

“Well, that sounds nerve-wracking. But even if we made it that far, how do we get the wind to take him when it doesn’t?”

I exhaled. “Jonah’s connection is based on control. He tricks the wind into believing he’s a part of it, that he’s useful. If we make him look weak—if we put him in a position where he’s struggling—the wind will turn on him.”

I met her gaze, my expression cold. “We make him panic. We make him fight.”

For a long moment, she was silent, processing.

I took a deep breath. “We get back in his line of sight, and he will undoubtedly try to make it take us. When he makes his move, when he tries to push one of us in, we turn it around on him.”

Ava swallowed. “You mean we push him instead?”

“Exactly. But it has to be him who panics first. If the wind senses he’s losing control, it’ll act on instinct. It’ll see him as dead weight—useless.” I exhaled. “And then, it’ll take him instead.”

Ava shivered, her eyes flickering to the mist, then—to my surprise—she laughed.

I frowned. “What’s so funny?”

She shook her head, a tired smile playing on her lips. “Even in here, you’re still trying to make someone pay.”

Despite everything—despite this hellish place, despite the looming danger—I found myself smiling. It was small, barely there, but real.

We kept walking, side by side, our hands clasped.

But then—I stopped.

Ava nearly stumbled. “Did you hear something?”

I turned to her, something heavy in my chest. “I’m sorry.”

She blinked. “What?”

I swallowed hard. “I’m really sorry. For everything.”

Her expression softened, and then—she smiled. “I know,” she said, squeezing my hand. “Now let’s find that slimy bastard and get the hell out of here.”