Percy's POV
The doctor didn't speak immediately.
He adjusted the file in his hands, glancing between all of us like he was measuring how much we could handle. That alone made something cold settle in my chest.
"Before I explain anything," he said carefully, "I need to ask… did something significant happen to her recently? Something involving someone named… Keifer?"
My entire body stilled.
Dad's brows furrowed, but his gaze shifted to me.
So I answered.
"…Yes," I said, my voice low. "Why?"
The doctor exhaled slowly.
"Even in her unconscious state," he continued, "she's been mumbling his name repeatedly. It seems to be a major emotional trigger."
That hit harder than anything else. Even after everything… even after the pain… she was still calling him.
My jaw tightened.
"Doctor," Dad said firmly, his patience thinning. "Tell us what's wrong with her."
The doctor nodded and opened the file.
"We ran a series of tests based on her current condition… and also reviewed her previous medical records—the ones you provided from the Philippines."
I felt my stomach twist.
Because something in his tone—
It wasn't normal.
"It appears," he continued slowly, "that she may be suffering from early-stage Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder."
Silence.
Mom's hand flew to her mouth.Grandpa's grip tightened on his cane.My chest felt like it caved in.
PTSD.
That meant this wasn't just about today.
This had been building.
For a long time.
The doctor continued.
"We also found physical indicators—bruising, fatigue patterns, irregular vitals—that suggest prolonged stress."
I shook my head immediately.
"No… that's not possible," I cut in. "She eats properly. I've seen it. She's always eaten well."
The doctor looked at me.
"Yes," he said calmly. "She eats. But nutrition isn't just about eating."
My breath caught.
"Her vitamin levels… iron… calcium… they're critically low," he explained. "That indicates malnutrition."
My mind blanked.
Malnutrition?
How?
"She may have been eating," he continued, "but not absorbing or maintaining what her body needs. Combined with stress and lack of proper rest… her body has been deteriorating quietly."
Every word felt like a blow.
And then—
The doctor hesitated.
Just for a second.But it was enough.Because when he spoke again—Everything stopped.
"There's something else we found."
My heart dropped.
"Due to some concerning scan results… we discovered that she is in the very early stages of brain cancer."
The world went silent.
Completely.
Utterly.
Gone.
Mom let out a broken sound, her knees nearly giving out as Dad caught her instantly. Grandpa staggered back slightly, his cane slipping from his grip and hitting the floor with a dull thud.
I didn't move.
I couldn't.
Brain cancer.
Jay.
My baby sistah.
No.
No—this wasn't happening.
I felt something burn behind my eyes, but I forced it back.
Not now.
I couldn't break now.
"Is it… curable?" I asked, my voice barely steady.
The doctor nodded.
"Yes," he said. "It's in a very early stage. We detected it early enough that treatment—chemotherapy—has a strong chance of being effective."
A breath I didn't realize I was holding finally left my chest.
But it wasn't relief.
Not fully.
Because he hadn't finished.
"But," he added carefully, "there are conditions."
Dad straightened slightly.
"What conditions?"
The doctor's expression turned serious.
"She must avoid all forms of emotional and psychological stress," he said firmly. "Anything that triggers her trauma could worsen both her mental and physical condition."
My mind immediately went back to today.
To David.
To Section E.
To everything.
"She also shows signs of blood-related trauma," the doctor continued. "Avoid exposing her to anything that could trigger that fear."
Mom nodded quickly, tears still streaming down her face.
"We will," she whispered. "Anything."
"I strongly recommend therapy," he added. "She needs professional help to process what she's been through."
Then came the part none of us were ready for.
"And finally… you will need to tell her about the cancer."
Silence fell like something suffocating. Because how do you tell someone who just lost everything… that they might lose even more?
The doctor closed the file gently.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly.
And then he left.
The moment the door shut—
Everything broke.
Mom collapsed into Dad, sobbing uncontrollably. Dad held her tightly, but his own composure cracked, his head dropping slightly as his shoulders tensed.
Grandpa—
Grandpa didn't cry.
He snapped.
His cane hit the ground violently as he threw it across the room, his chest heaving, his eyes darkening into something dangerous.
"They did this," he growled, his voice low and filled with fury. "Every single one of them."
The air around him felt heavy.
Lethal.
"I will make them pay," he continued, his voice colder now. "Not just for this… but for every tear she's shed."
I knew that tone.
I knew exactly what it meant.
Because unlike the rest of the world—
I knew who my grandfather really was.The head of The League.The most powerful underground force.And right now—That shadow was angry.But none of that mattered to me.
Not right now.
Because all I could think about—
Was her.
Lying in that room.
Fighting battles she didn't even know existed yet.
A nurse rushed toward us.
"She's awake.you can see her now."
That was all it took.
We didn't walk.We ran.The door opened.And we all stopped.
Because the girl sitting on that hospital bed—
Didn't look like Jay.
She was upright.Still.Her eyes were fixed on the window.Unblinking.Cold.Empty.There were no tears.No anger.No fear.Just… nothing.And somehow—That was worse.So much worse.
Mom covered her mouth, a broken sob escaping her.Dad froze beside me.Grandpa went completely still.
And me?
I felt my chest crack open.
Because the girl who used to laugh, argue, cry—The girl who called me "big bro" with warmth—
Was gone.
And in her place—Sat someone hollow.Someone who had felt too much—And finally stopped feeling anything at all....
Dad, Mom, and Grandpa rushed to her the second we stepped inside. They pulled her into their arms like they were afraid she'd disappear again, holding her tightly, speaking her name over and over—but I saw it.
I saw what they didn't want to see. She hugged them back… but her face didn't change. Not even a flicker. No warmth. No relief. Just… empty.
That scared me more than anything.
I stepped forward slowly, my chest tight, and pulled her into my arms next. "Hey… baby sistah…" I murmured softly, my hand gently running through her hair like I used to. She didn't pull away. She didn't react either. She just… stayed there. Still. Quiet.
We all sat around her bed after that, the silence thick and suffocating.
Then suddenly—she looked at me. Straight into my eyes. And for the first time since we walked in, something moved there.
Not emotion. Not really. Just… awareness.
"What did the doctor say, Percy?"
Time stopped.
I felt everyone tense around me, but I didn't look away from her. Because right now—after everything—she didn't need another lie. Another secret. She needed truth. Even if it broke her more.
I swallowed hard.
"They're going to start you on therapy," I said gently. "Once a week… just for now."
Her hands clenched slightly in the sheets.
I hesitated.
But then I said it.
"They also found something else…"
My voice dropped.
"You're in the early stage of brain cancer, Jay."
For a second—Nothing happened.
Then her face cracked.And the sound that came out of her—it wasn't just crying. It was something deeper. Raw. Broken. Like everything inside her finally gave in at once.
"No…" she sobbed, shaking her head, her hands gripping the sheets. "No, no, no—"
I was at her side instantly, pulling her into me as she cried uncontrollably against my chest.
"I'm here," I whispered, holding her tighter. "I've got you… I'm right here…"
Dad moved closer, trying to steady her, his own voice shaking. "You're going to be okay, Jay… we're here… we'll fix this…"
Mom was crying openly now, her hand on Jay's back, while Grandpa turned away slightly, his face tight, his emotions barely held in.
But then—
Her breathing changed.
"Jay—" I pulled back slightly. "Hey—breathe—slow down—"
But she couldn't.
Her chest rose and fell too quickly, her fingers clutching my shirt like she was drowning.
"I can't—" she gasped. "I can't—"
Panic hit me instantly.
"Doctor!" I shouted, my voice echoing through the room.
But before anyone could reach us—
Her body went limp.
And she fainted again.
"JAY!"
I caught her, my heart slamming violently as I held her in place.
Doctors rushed in within seconds, pulling her away carefully as they checked her vitals again. One of them looked at us, frustration clear on his face.
"She's already under heavy medication," he said sharply. "Her brain cannot handle this level of emotional shock right now!"
Guilt hit like a punch.
"We had to tell her—" Dad started, his voice tight.
"You could have waited," the doctor snapped, then exhaled, forcing himself to calm down. "Right now, the priority is stabilizing her."
We stood change.
Helpless.Again.
After a few minutes, the doctor turned back to us, his tone more controlled.
"She'll be okay for now. But you need to take her home once she's stable. We'll proceed with treatment plans from there. I'll contact you with the next steps."
I nodded slowly, even though my chest still felt like it was collapsing.
The discharge process felt like a blur.
Papers signed.Instructions given.Warnings repeated.And through all of it—She didn't wake up.
I carried her back into the car myself, careful, gentle, like she was something fragile that might break if I held her wrong. Her head rested lightly against my shoulder, her breathing soft but uneven.
"She'll be okay," Mom whispered, though her voice didn't sound convinced.
Dad stared straight ahead, his jaw clenched.
Grandpa said nothing.
When we reached home, the mansion felt too nothing. Too heavy.
I carried her upstairs to her room, placing her gently on the bed, pulling the blanket over her carefully.
For a moment, I just stood there.Looking at her.At how still she was.
At how small she suddenly looked in that massive room.And something inside me twisted painfully.Because this wasn't how it was supposed to be.
She was supposed to come here and heal.
To laugh.
To live.
Not this.
Not any of this.
I reached out slowly and brushed a strand of hair away from her face.
"Don't worry," I whispered quietly.
"I've got you now baby sistah, I promise you I will never leave you..."
And this time—
I meant it with everything I had.