Jayla remained frozen in place, her eyes still locked on the ambulance where Damon's body had been placed, trying to process the nightmare that had unfolded before her. But then, a subtle movement from the edge of the scene pulled her attention.
A woman was walking toward the area.
She was striking—tall, composed, and dressed in a plain office blouse and slacks, her shoes clicking steadily against the pavement. Her dark, shoulder-length hair was slightly disheveled, her face glistening with sweat, but she wasn't crying. Not even a little.
Jayla blinked, staring. There was no mistaking it—this had to be Damon's mother.
The resemblance was undeniable. The same angular jawline. The same piercing eyes that Damon had—only hers now carried something... heavier. Not grief. Not shock. Something else.
Worry? No. That wasn't quite it.
It was deeper. More complex. Like she had walked into the middle of a puzzle she had already seen before, but hoped she'd never have to complete.
Jayla expected her to collapse, to fall to her knees and scream, to break apart like any mother would after hearing her son was murdered.
But she didn't.
Instead, the woman marched toward the medics with terrifying clarity. Her lips were drawn tight, her eyes sharp—not with denial, but certainty.
Jayla stepped closer without realizing, drawn by the woman's presence. The other students gave her space, watching in silence.
The woman reached the paramedics who stood beside the ambulance where Damon's body still lay.
Her voice was low, but cutting. "Open the door."
The younger medic blinked, caught off guard. "Ma'am—"
"I said, open the damn door. Let him out."
Her tone didn't shake. It didn't rise in desperation. It didn't break from grief.
She wasn't begging.
She was ordering.
"Mrs. Graves," one of the older medics said gently, placing a hand on her shoulder. "I'm so sorry. I know this is difficult, but... we've confirmed your son's vitals. He's—"
"He's not dead," she said flatly. "That's not my son's fate. He's not meant to die here."
The medics exchanged glances. To them, she was clearly in denial, already spiraling into shock. They had seen this reaction before—parents clinging to hope, unable to accept the finality of it all.
But she wasn't clinging to hope.
There was something unnerving in her eyes. Not fragility—certainty.
She stared at the older medic like he was wasting time. "Either you open it, or I do."
The medic hesitated. His eyes flicked toward his colleague. They'd done their job. The boy was gone. But something about this woman... there was an energy around her. Something that didn't fit into any protocol.
With a sigh, the older medic gave a slow nod.
"Unlock it."
The back of the ambulance creaked as the doors opened. Inside, the black body bag lay still on the gurney, zipped up.
The moment the doors opened, Jayla felt a chill sweep through her.
She took a slow, cautious step forward. She didn't even know why. Her instincts just pulled her.
She wanted to see.
Valerie Graves climbed in without hesitation, her presence quiet but commanding. She didn't cry. She didn't shake. She reached out, unzipped the top of the bag with practiced, steady hands.
Jayla moved closer, standing just at the edge of the open doors, watching as the bag peeled open—revealing Damon's lifeless face.
His skin had gone pale, lips tinted faintly purple. His shirt was soaked in dried blood. His eyes were closed.
Jayla's heart twisted. The image was unbearable. But she couldn't look away.
Valerie stared at her son.
Not with despair.
Not with denial.
But with disappointment.
A deep, unsettled disappointment that ran far beneath the surface.
Her eyes scanned his face with a calm intensity, as if searching for something that wasn't visible to anyone else.
Jayla stood there, barely breathing.
What is she looking for?
Valerie raised a hand, brushing Damon's blood-matted hair off his forehead.
Then she whispered, almost too low to hear:
"This wasn't supposed to happen."
Jayla's breath caught in her throat.
She didn't understand what was going on, but she knew one thing for certain.
This woman wasn't just mourning her son.
She was waiting for something.
Jayla couldn't tear her eyes away. Her face was soaked with tears, her chest still heaving. Her lips trembled as she tried to breathe normally, but the moment kept replaying in her head. The way Damon collapsed… the way he bled… the final gasp before he stilled.
She hadn't been able to save him.
And yet—there was his mother.
Calm. Unshaken. Almost unnaturally composed as she stepped into the ambulance with quiet force. Valerie looked down at her son's lifeless body, reached out with one hand, and touched the center of his chest.
Jayla watched it all from a few feet away, confused, curious, and… uneasy.
Valerie's hand hovered over Damon's sternum. Her fingertips pressed lightly over his heart.
And then it happened.
A twitch.
So small, so quick, that Jayla thought she imagined it at first.
Then another.
Damon's eyelids fluttered, his brows pulled together like someone having a bad dream. His chest expanded—barely. Then again, deeper. A sudden choke escaped his throat, sharp and wet, like something blocking his airway had been ripped free.
"Hhhhkkk—!"
Jayla jumped. "Oh my god!"
Damon's whole body jerked forward, gasping, as if an invisible fist had punched air back into his lungs.
His eyes shot open.
Wild. Unfocused. Confused.
He coughed—hard—and struggled to sit up. His hands clawed at the body bag, and Valerie calmly unzipped it the rest of the way. The paramedics stumbled backward, their mouths open, as if they were seeing a corpse rise.
Damon stared around wildly, sucking air into his lungs like it was the first breath he'd ever taken. His eyes landed on his mother, and they softened.
"Mom…?"
"I'm here," she whispered, helping him up with both hands. "You're alright."
"I—I was…" His voice cracked. "I was dead… I felt it. I was gone. I know I was—" He coughed again, clutching at his chest, but there was no pain. No blood. No wound.
"You came back," Valerie said quietly. "That's all that matters now."
One of the medics stuttered, "Ma'am… he was—he had no pulse. We checked—he wasn't breathing—he—"
Valerie shot him a glare. "Do you see him breathing now?"
The man froze, unable to respond.
Jayla was still rooted to the spot, staring in disbelief. "How…? How is this happening?"
Damon looked down at himself. His school uniform was still bloody, but the blood was dry. His hands were shaking, but his body… it felt fine. Too fine. He felt stronger, clearer than before.
"I saw darkness," Damon whispered, more to himself. "I saw nothing. But I felt something… pulling me back."
Jayla edged closer. "Damon?"
He looked up at her, stunned to see her still here.
"You were gone. I tried to stop the bleeding. I tried to—" She shook her head, voice cracking. "You died in my arms."
He stared at her for a long time. "I know," he said. "Thank you."
Valerie helped him to his feet. Despite everything, Damon stood like he had just taken a nap—no groaning, no limping. He winced briefly, touching his chest, but there was no pain. No scar.
No sign he had ever been stabbed.
"Where are you taking him?" Officer Martinez asked cautiously, moving closer.
Valerie didn't slow her pace. "Home."
"He needs to be evaluated. That's not a suggestion."
She turned sharply, her eyes like iron. "He doesn't need a hospital. He needs to be where I can protect him."
"He was dead, ma'am. That's not something we can just ignore."
Valerie stepped in front of her son, shielding him. "If you get in my way, officer, I promise you—you'll regret it."
Martinez blinked. He believed her.
She turned again and started toward the street where her dark car sat waiting.
Jayla followed, unable to stop herself. Something bigger was at play here.
Valerie turned. "You've done enough. Go home."
"She stays," Damon rasped. "She helped me."
Valerie hesitated, then gave a slow nod.
Jayla followed silently, glancing at Damon every few steps, still unable to believe what she was seeing.
He should be dead.
But he wasn't.
Something brought him back.