The facility was located in the Silver Heights district, perched on a cliffside where the air was filtered and crisp. Guron Grefo’s personal security detail had cleared the path, leading Jannah through hallways of soft, glowing light and acoustic-dampening floors. For Jannah, every step felt like walking through a dream that she didn’t quite belong in.

"He’s in Room 402," Guron said, his voice unusually quiet as he stopped at the entrance of a glass-walled suite. "I’ll give you some privacy. My men will be at the end of the hall."

Jannah nodded, her throat tight. She pushed the door open, expecting to find her grandfather, Duro, lost in the hollow, glazed-eyed stupor that had defined the last year of his life.

Instead, she saw him sitting by a massive window, a quilted blanket over his knees. His white hair was neatly combed, and for the first time in months, his eyes weren’t wandering the room in search of a ghost. They were sharp, focused, and brimming with the ancient wisdom that had once made him the most respected herbalist in the slums.

"Jannah?" his voice was a thin, raspy thread, but it carried her name with perfect clarity.

"Grandpa!" Jannah cried, rushing to his side. She dropped to her knees by his chair, clutching his weathered, calloused hands in hers. They were warm. He was here. "You recognize me? You know who I am?"

Duro let out a soft, wheezing chuckle, his thumb tracing the back of her hand. "How could I forget the face of my own heart? You’ve been gone for a few days, little bird. Where have you been? This place... it smells of machines and expensive chemicals. Why am I here?"

Jannah forced a smile, blinking back the tears that threatened to spill. She couldn’t tell him about the Grefo family, about the deal she had made with the devil’s father, or the dangerous game of shadows she was playing with Dorrent. "I’ve taken a job, Grandpa. A very high-paying one. I’m safe, and I’m doing well. This facility... it’s the best in the city. They’re going to help your memory."

Duro sighed, looking out at the sprawling, wealthy skyline. He looked tired with the weariness of a man who had seen too much of the world’s cruelty. "I don’t like it here, Jannah. The air is too clean, the walls too white. I miss the sound of the rain on our tin roof. I miss the smell of the damp earth in our little garden. I would prefer to be home, even if the walls are rotting. I don’t need to be fixed; I just need to be with you."

"Just for a little while, Grandpa," she whispered, leaning her head against his knee. "Just until you’re stronger."

Duro was silent for a long time, his hand resting on her hair. Then, he leaned forward, his expression turning serious. "You’ve grown pale, my child. And there is a tension in your shoulders that shouldn’t be there. You are nineteen. It is the height of your bloom."

He took a slow breath, his eyes clouding with a sudden, urgent worry. "There is a mate party in the town square this weekend. I heard the nurses talking about it. You should go. It’s time you found yourself an Alpha to claim you, to protect you, to give you a life away from this burden. You are beautiful enough to attract the highest gaze. You shouldn’t settle down with a ghost of an old man; you should settle down with a mate."

Jannah’s heart plummeted. She pulled back slightly, her gaze dropping to her lap. The mention of mates didn’t bring her hope; it brought a cold, hollow dread that she had lived with since her first heat.

"I can’t go to mate parties, Grandpa," Jannah said, her voice trembling. "You know I can’t. I’ve been cursed."

Duro went rigid. The light in his eyes flickered as the fog of his amnesia momentarily parted to reveal a memory he had tried to bury. "The lineage..." he whispered.

"The last six Alphas," Jannah said, her voice a jagged edge of grief. "In the ghetto, before the amnesia took you... do you remember? Every time an Alpha tried to claim me, every time a bond began to form... disaster followed. Two died in freak industrial accidents. Three went completely mad, their minds snapping under the pressure of the bond. The last one... he’s still in a coma, a vegetable in the lower ward. I am a death sentence to any man who tries to own me."

Duro’s hands shook in hers. The curse of their lineage—the Firstborn Female Blight. In their family, the first-born daughters were said to be born with a soul too volatile for the Alpha-Omega bond. It was a genetic anomaly, a "curse" passed down through the blood of herbalists who had played too closely with the forbidden forces of nature generations ago. The female’s pheromones were toxic to the psychic structure of an Alpha’s knotting instinct, leading to neurological collapse or "bad luck" that defied logic.

"I had forgotten," Duro whispered, his voice thick with sorrow. "The first female borns are born with a curse never to have mates... because it leads to disasters."

He looked at his granddaughter—so young, so vibrant, and yet destined to walk the world in a solitary, cold vacuum. "But Jannah, there must be a solution. You are an herbalist! You know the secrets of the deep roots. You cannot stay single for the rest of your life. The loneliness will eat you alive."

Jannah looked up at him, a sad, resigned smile on her face. She thought of Dorrent—of the way her body had reacted to him despite her hatred. If she was a curse, then perhaps she was the perfect person to be near him. She could break him without even trying.

"I’m okay with it, Grandpa," Jannah said, her voice hollow. "I’m used to the silence. I don’t want to risk anyone’s life. I don’t want more blood on my hands. I’ll stay as I am. Just a healer. Just your Jannah."

They sat together in the fading light, two outcasts in a room of glass and gold. They talked for a while longer about the old days, about the smell of blue-leaf ginger and the sound of the market. When it was time to leave, Jannah stood up and wrapped her arms around the frail old man, burying her face in his shoulder.

"I’ll be back soon, I promise," she whispered. 𝒻𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘸ℯ𝒷𝘯𝘰𝑣ℯ𝑙.𝘤𝑜𝘮

"Find a way, Jannah," Duro murmured into her hair, his voice fading back into the fog. "Don’t let the blood define your heart. Find a way to be loved."

Jannah stepped out of the room, her face a mask of iron, ready to return to the Grefo estate. She didn’t want love; she wanted justice. And if she was a curse, she was going to make sure Dorrent Grefo felt the full weight of it.