Page 137 of The Mourning Throne
The only thing he could do was try to find Lex’s voice in the dark.
And every time, it was there.
“Comeon, Morgan. You don’t get to scare me and disappear.”
That one stuck.
It anchored him—hard. Pulled him closer to the surface like a hook in the chest, painful in its truth.
It’s night again.
Shadows sharpened into ceiling tiles. The outline of the damn, gaudy chandelier swam into view, soft and yellowed, casting faint halos on the wall. Somewhere close, the sound of Lex’s footsteps—barefoot and uneven—trying not to make noise and failing just enough for Morgan to hear it.
Then—Lex’s face.
Close. Too close and not close enough.
Gray, almost translucent in the low light. His split lip was darker now, crusted with dried blood that he’d no doubt been gnawing at. Those blue eyes were paler, red with exhaustion. Everything about him look so tired.
“You aresucha dick,” Lex whispered.
Morgan tried to answer. Tried to shape a sound, a word,something—but all that came out was a ragged, half-choked gasp, more air than voice.
Lex leaned in fast, hand shaking slightly as he cupped Morgan’s jaw.
“That’s progress.” Lex’s laugh wasn’t his. “Don’t—don’t try to talk yet. Just breathe.”
Morgan obeyed.
The first breath was shallow. Tight.
The second hitched something in his chest.
But the third came easier. Strange inside his lungs, tinged with sterility and the taste of iron.
Lex sat back, wiping at his face with the heel of his hand, trying to play casual and failing miserably.
Morgan stared at him.
He didn’t have the words for what he saw. Or maybe he did, buried somewhere beneath the static and haze, stuck behind the weight of beinghere. Of choosing to crawl back from that pleasant darkness.
Lex’s voice cracked when he looked back to him.
“You were out for almost a day.”
Morgan’s stomach twisted—tight, nauseating, unfamiliar. The closest thing he’d felt to guilt in years. It ate at the same part of him that always,alwayshated needing help. Hated being seen like this.
It should’ve been the other way around.Hewas supposed to be the one cleaning blood off Lex, not the one ruining the hotel sheets.
He started to shift.
Lex didn’t let him.
A palm on his shoulder, firm and grounding. A steady pressure. No force—just refusal.
“No hospital,” Morgan croaked.
“I figured,” Lex said, eyes narrowing. “But next time, I’m not giving you the option. I’d rather you be shitty about a doctor than have you in a body bag.”
