"I know. Lot of blood. Heard that part."
"More than a lot. You were practically gray. I thought—" He stops, shakes his head. "Doesn't matter what I thought. You're here now."
"The raid," I say. "What happened after I went down?"
Hakon and Ulf exchange a look.
"We pulled back," Ulf says. "Couldn't do anything else. You were bleeding out, the traffickers had already left with the kids, and we were outgunned. Fenrir made the call to retreat."
"The kids?—"
"Gone. For now." Hakon's jaw tightens. "But we're not giving up. The club's been working intel while you were out. We know they're heading to Atlanta. We know who's running the operation. We just need to figure out where they're keeping the kids now."
"I want in. When you move on them again?—"
"You'll be in a hospital bed," Ulf interrupts. "Or close to it. You're not going anywhere for weeks."
"Weeks?"
"Doctor Reynolds said six to eight weeks before you're cleared for anything physical. And that's if everything heals right."
Six to eight weeks.
Two months of sitting on the sidelines while those kids suffer.
"That's not acceptable."
"It's your reality," Hakon says. "And before you start arguing—you almost died. You don't get to rush this. The club will handle the trafficking ring. Your job is to heal."
I want to argue.
Want to tell them I'll be fine, that I can push through.
But I know they're right.
I can barely sit up without my side screaming.
I'm in no shape to do anything except recover.
"Fine," I grind out. "But I want updates. Everything you learn, I want to know."
"Done." Hakon stands. "Now rest. We'll check on you later."
They leave.
The room feels too quiet without them.
I stare at the ceiling, trying not to think about the kids.
Trying not to imagine what they're going through right now while I'm lying here useless.
Trying not to let the guilt swallow me whole.
The door opens again.
This time it's Ingrid, carrying a glass of water.
"Thought you might be thirsty."
