Watching Gunnar's chest rise and fall—slowly, too slowly, but still moving.
Vail stands beside me now, her hand gripping mine so tight it hurts.
Neither of us speaks.
What is there to say?
Finally, finally, I hear commotion in the hall.
"Reynolds is here!" someone shouts.
A man pushes through the door—fifties, gray hair, carrying a medical bag that looks like it's seen better days.
But his hands are steady.
His eyes are sharp.
He takes one look at Gunnar and his expression shifts into something focused and calm.
Professional.
Competent.
This is a man who's seen worse and fixed it.
"How long?" he asks.
"About two and a half hours since the injury," Gwen reports. "Knife wound to the left side, still embedded. We've stabilized it, pushed fluids. Blood pressure's been dropping but we've managed to keep him conscious intermittently."
"Good work." Reynolds pulls on gloves, moves to the table. "I need everyone who isn't medical to clear out. Now."
"I'm not leaving." The words come out before I can stop them.
Reynolds looks at me.
Assessing.
"You family?"
"She's his—" Vail pauses, struggling for the right word. Then she continues. "She's family. She can stay. But against the wall, out of the way."
Reynolds nods, apparently satisfied. "Fine. Everyone else, out."
Dad hesitates in the doorway, his eyes on Gunnar, but Vail catches his eye.
"I'll stay with him. Go update the others. They need to know what's happening."
He nods.
Leaves.
The room clears.
Just me, Vail, Gwen, Aesir, and Reynolds.
And Gunnar.
Still unconscious.
