Tick.

The only sound was the slow tick of the clock on the wall.

Jade took another step towards Papa. The torch cast a spotlight over his hunched figure. The rest of the room retreated into the shadows, distancing itself from the wrongness of the scene.

Tick.

A message, now forgotten, slipped out of Jade’s trembling hand and fluttered to the ground. Jade reached forward to shake Papa, thinking—hoping—he must be so tired.

Tick.

Jade grasped Papa’s shoulder, expecting him to jerk to consciousness and look up at her, groggy. But he did not move. She pressed harder, but his body was rigid under her touch. He did not wake. He didn’t even groan.

Tick.

Papa’s head fell forward, from where it had rested on his arm. His forehead connected with the polished wood of the desk with a thud. His wings hung limply across his back, their magenta scales dull.

Tick.

Tentatively, Jade smoothed his grey-streaked hair away from his face. She gasped at his eyes; open and staring at his own clenched right hand. She pressed a hand to his forehead.

He was cold, too cold.

Tick.

Jade’s hand fell away. A deep fog settled over her, paralysing her. Deafening her. She stared at Papa’s body. His lips, blue. His eyes, wide. Lifeless. She stared and saw nothing.

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

Dimly, Jade heard herself screaming, calling for help. There was a clatter of footsteps, then a set of hands on her shoulders.

“Shhhh, shhhh,” someone said, and eventually the screaming stopped.

But the clock did not.

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.