CHAPTER 179: UNEXPECTED REUNION...

Rhett

I sat on the paper-lined bed while Dr Maxwell checked the same things he always checked.

He hummed to himself as he worked. I knew that hum. It meant he was thinking hard and trying not to say anything before he was sure.

"Again," he said, lifting the stethoscope. "Deep breath in."

I did. My chest rose. The air went all the way down this time without catching. It surprised me. A week ago, it had burned to breathe like that.

"And out," he said.

I let it go. He watched me, then listened again in four places. His brow creased. He checked my oxygen level. He checked my blood pressure. He checked a scan. He checked whatever else he kept in that long head of his.

When he finally stepped back, he looked at me like I had turned into a new person while he wasn’t watching.

"This is... better," he said, and the word sounded small for what his eyes were doing. "No—this is much better."

I lifted a shoulder. "I feel... lighter, I guess."

"Honestly, this is remarkable," Dr Maxwell said, pulling back from his examination with an expression of shock. "Your heart function has improved by nearly forty per cent since your last visit two weeks ago."

He looked down at his tablet and scrolled through it. I could hear his breath shift when he compared lines from last week to today. He shook his head once, slow, like he was correcting the math.

"Rhett," he said, "two weeks ago, your counts were sliding in the wrong direction. Fatigue, inflammation markers, the stress lines on your scans... We discussed a lot of treatment options, you remember?"

"Yes, I do," I nodded.

"And now." He tapped the screen and turned it a little so I could see. The bars that were once too low were now up. The lines that had dipped were climbing. "Your vitals are stabilising. Your healing response is higher. Your lungs sound clearer. Your heart is calmer. If I didn’t know these were your files, I would think there was a mix-up."

I sat on the examination table, still processing what he’d just said. "That’s... that’s good, right?"

"Good? Rhett, this is extraordinary. The level of cardiac improvement you’re showing would typically take months of intensive treatment, if it happened at all." He flipped through my chart, comparing the numbers there. "Your ejection fraction was at twenty-eight per cent last time. Now it’s at forty-two per cent. Your arrhythmia has stabilised. Even your blood pressure is better."

"So I’m not dying anymore?" I asked, hope flickering in my chest.

Dr Maxwell hesitated. "I wouldn’t say that exactly. You’re still in a precarious position. But whatever you’ve been doing differently, it’s working. What changed?"

I’ve been thinking about the past few days at Isolde’s house. Being close to Charis constantly, the mate bonds activate more frequently, due to the physical proximity and emotional connection.

"I’ve been spending more time with someone," I said carefully. "Someone important to me."

"The girl from the news," Dr Maxwell said, his eyes lighting up with understanding. "Charis Greye. I have to say, I couldn’t believe it when I saw the headlines. Eamon Riggs was a girl all along? That must have been quite a shock for everyone at the academy and for me, too. There was something feminine about him, but I brushed it off."

"It was," I admitted. "Though looking back, there were signs. Little things that didn’t quite add up."

"Like what?"

"The way she—he, back then—moved sometimes. And the voice, it was always a bit strained, like maintaining it took effort."

Dr Maxwell nodded thoughtfully. "Identity deception of that magnitude requires incredible discipline. She must have been under tremendous stress the entire time."

"She was running from an arranged marriage. From a life that would have destroyed who she really was."

"Understandable, given what I’ve read about traditional pack customs." He made some notes in my chart. "But back to your condition—you said you’ve been spending more time with her. How much time, exactly?"

"Pretty much constantly for the past few days. We were staying at her guardian’s house two days ago, but we’re back at the academy, and we’re roommates too."

Dr Maxwell’s expression became more serious. "Rhett, I want to run a theory by you. Have you heard of Shadewolves?"

I nodded. "Who hasn’t?"

"And you know Charis is a Shadewolf?" he asked again.

I wanted to correct him that she was a Direwolf wolf now, but I didn’t, I just nodded and let him keep talking.

"They’re extremely rare—maybe one in a million wolves. Shadewolves have the ability to temporarily enhance healing in people through sustained physical and emotional proximity. It’s not a cure, but more like... a bridge. As long as the Shadewolf and their mate maintain close contact, the person’s body can heal itself more effectively."

My heart sank even as it lifted. "Temporarily? You mean it only works while we’re together?"

"Exactly. Think of it like a plant and sunlight. The plant can grow and thrive in the sun, but take the sun away and it starts to wither again. If Charis is a Shadewolf and you’re experiencing the healing effect, you’d need to maintain regular proximity to her to keep improving."

"How regular?"

"Based on what I’m seeing in your test results, I’d say daily contact at a minimum. Extended separation—anything more than a few days—and you’d likely start declining again."

I processed this information, trying not to think too much of it. On one hand, this was hope. A real chance at recovery, at not dying before I turned twenty-five. On the other hand, it meant I’d be dependent on Charis’s presence for my survival.

"Does she know?" Dr Maxwell asked. "That she might be healing you?"

"I don’t think so. I shook my head.

"You should tell her. If she is one, she needs to understand what that means for both of you."

Before I could respond, Dr Maxwell’s assistant burst into the room, her face flushed with urgency. She leaned close to whisper something in his ear.

Dr Maxwell’s expression darkened. "Excuse me," he said to me. "There’s a situation in the waiting room I need to handle."

He left quickly, and I sat there contemplating everything we’d discussed. Charis might be something incredibly rare and special, and she was saving my life without her even knowing it.

But what did that mean for us? For our relationship? Would she feel trapped, obligated to stay close to me because my survival depended on it?

My thoughts were interrupted by the raised voices of people outside the examination room. Curious and slightly concerned, I got up and walked to the door, opening it to peek into the hallway.

At the end of the corridor, near the waiting room, I could see Dr Maxwell and two security guards surrounding a woman. She was dressed so beautifully with colours that matched her eyes.

"I’m telling you, my son is here," the woman was saying, her voice rising with desperation. "I need to see him. Please, I’ve been searching for so long."

"Ma’am, we’ve already explained that we can’t give out patient information," Dr Maxwell said firmly. "If you don’t leave voluntarily, we’ll have to call the police."

Something about the woman’s voice resonated with something deep within my chest. I found myself walking toward them before I consciously decided to move.

"What’s going on?" I asked as I approached.

The security guards turned to look at me, and the woman’s eyes went wide. She pushed past them and walked straight up to me, her hands trembling as she reached for my face.

"Oh, my darling baby," she murmured, her fingers gentle as they touched my cheeks. "Look what they’ve done to you."

I felt uncomfortable with this strange woman touching me so intimately. I took a step backwards and smiled awkwardly, trying to be polite but also create some distance.

"I’m sorry, but I think you might have me confused with someone else," I said gently.

Tears began streaming down her face. Her eyes—hazel eyes that looked exactly like mine—were filled with pain and longing and desperate hope.

"Oh, you don’t even remember me," she whispered. "It’s me, Rhett. I’m your mother."

I stood still for a few minutes watching her without saying a word. My mother had run away when I was a baby because I was sick with her lover, convinced he was her fated mate.

"I don’t understand," I said, my voice coming out weaker than I intended.

"They took you from me when you were just a baby," she said, her hands still reaching for me even though I’d stepped back. "Your grandfather took you from me. They said I was unfit to raise you because I was Omega. They said you deserved better than what I could give you and that it was because of my weakness that you got sick."

Dr Maxwell and the security guards had gone still, watching the scene before them with discomfort.

"That’s not possible," I said, but even as I spoke, doubt crept in. "They said you left because of my illness."

My mom scoffed, wiping the tears at the corner of her eyes. "That’s a big fat lie. They pushed me to the wall, and I had no other choice but to leave. They tortured me every day and blamed me for your illness. It was all a ploy to make Clara, Luna."