Page 37 of Jilted By Jack Frost

His face remains neutral, but his fingers twitch. It’s a tell I’ve noticed over our years together. “That event was caused by a volcanic eruption. It’s well documented in mortal history.”

“Is it?” I stand, ice crackling beneath my feet. “Or is that what we wanted them to believe?”

Silence stretches between us, heavy with unspoken accusations. Gabriel’s usual easy manner has vanished, replaced by something more calculating.

“You’re tired, Jack.” His voice carries a note of warning. “The portal has drained you. Perhaps we should discuss this when you’re thinking more clearly.”

Jack. He’s used my name twice now, when he typically maintains formal distance. My suspicion deepens.

“Leave me.” I turn away, making a show of fatigue. “I need to rest.”

I hear him hesitate before his footsteps retreat. The door closes with a soft click.

Alone, I pull out the ancient journal Violet had tried to show me earlier. The one I’d dismissed without truly examining it.

What else have I been too blind to see?

Chapter seventeen

Violet

The biting cold hits my face as I step through the portal, abruptly replacing the warmth of Jack’s castle. Main Street Salida looks like something out ofThe Day After Tomorrow—cars buried under feet of snow, buildings encased in ice, and not a soul in sight.

I push through deep snow to get to the hospital entrance, its emergency lights casting an eerie red glow across the white landscape.

Please let Alana be okay.

The hospital’s automatic doors are frozen shut. I yank the manual release and slip inside. The emergency generator hums, but the halls are dim, lit only by backup lights.

“Hello?” My voice echoes through the empty corridor. “Anyone here?”

A crash sounds from the ICU wing, followed by cursing I’d recognize anywhere. I sprint down the hall, my shoes squeaking against the linoleum.

Alana stands in the supply room, surrounded by scattered supplies. Her scrubs are wrinkled, dark circles under her eyes suggesting she hasn’t slept in days. She’s trying to organize supplies with trembling hands.

“Alana!”

She whirls around, eyes wide. “Violet? Oh, my god!” She stumbles forward, wrapping me in a tight hug. “Where have you been? We thought—“ Her voice breaks. “After you disappeared in the storm...”

“It’s complicated.” I pull back, noting how pale she looks. “What’s happening here?”

“Everything’s frozen. Roads are impassable. We’re running low on supplies, and patients keep coming in with hypothermia and frostbite.” She sways slightly.

I grab her arm, steadying her. “When’s the last time you slept?”

“I don’t—maybe two days ago? We’re so short-staffed...”

“Sit down before you fall down.” I guide her to a chair, checking her pulse. It races beneath my fingers, weak and uneven. “You’re exhausted and probably dehydrated.”

“I can’t rest. There’s too much—”

“You’re no good to anyone if you collapse.” I grab an IV kit and a bag of fluids from the scattered supplies. “Let me help you, then we’ll help everyone else together.”

My hands move automatically through the familiar motions—tourniquet, vein check, needle insertion. Alana doesn’t even flinch.

“I missed you,” she whispers, tears forming. “Everything went crazy not long after you disappeared. The weather, the accidents... it’s like nature itself turned against us.”

If she only knew how right she is.I squeeze her hand. “I’m here now. We’ll figure this out.”

---