“Even if I thought this was a good idea, which I don’t, I couldn’t help you…” Jacks trailed off, slurring his words.

“Are you all right?” you asked.

He met your gaze and yawned. “I—I—” He rubbed his eyes and swayed. “I’m fine. Just tired from—”

“Jacks.” You reached out to steady him.

He flinched away. “I’m fi—ne,” he repeated, but yawned again, eyes shutting.

“You’re falling asleep on your feet.”

Jacks blinked, drowsy and disoriented. His tousled golden hair and sleepy blue eyes softened his sharpness, making him look almost comical. You imagined a scandal sheet headline: THE PRINCE OF HEARTS SLAYED BY SLEEP!

But the fatigue seemed unnatural. “Jacks, I think something’s wrong.”

“That’s not new.” He gave a slow, impish smile. “Just need… a bed.”

He staggered toward a cemetery plot.

“Oh no—” You grabbed his arm, struggling to hold him up. “You can’t sleep here.”

“Just for a bit, Little Fox.” His eyelids fluttered. “Probably just a side effect of the venom… there’s always a cost to unearned power…” He sagged against a tree covered in posters of your likeness.