And he—hethrewhimself in front of me like some goddamn martyr.
What the fuck was he thinking?
I remember the chaos. The scream—mine or someone else’s. I remember the concrete biting my knees as I dropped beside him, blood gushing beneath his shoulder. My hands had moved automatically—pressing gauze from my vest against the wound, barking orders I barely registered.
I wanted to reassure him that he’ll be fine—maybe even myself.
But the bum had passed out almost immediately. Well, I’m assuming it’s hisfirstgunshot wound.
God, let it be hisonly.
I’m shaking now, and I hate that I am. Not with fear. With rage.
How dare he?
How dare he do this now—when I wasjuststarting to understand him?
Vir is keeping a very shocked Mehul isolated in his compound. No word from him since.
I made sure Advik was admitted as anunidentified patient,gave the hospital a neat little story about a civilian caught in crossfire, flashed my faux-police credentials and badge.
And yet, I can’t walk into the fucking room. Because I’m terrified of what I’ll see.
Not just pain. Not just blood.
But him—pale and fragile.
I inhale deeply and finally push open the door. There he is.
Half-sitting, thanks to the incline on his hospital bed. Bandaged, wired up. A nurse stands at the foot of the bed, scribbling on his chart.
He looks...dazed. His eyelids droop, his movements sluggish. But the moment he sees me, his lips curve into that crooked, stupid, lopsided smile. But he also looks like he’ll pass out whenever he blinks.
I frown.Please tell me it’s not what I think.
The nurse glances up. “He just woke up. Pain medicine kicked in, so he’s a little loopy. Hasn’t given us his name yet. Maybe you could try? We’d like to contact his family.”
Fucking hell.
I tear my eyes away from his face just long enough to nod. “Yeah. I’ll take care of that. I need a statement from him anyway. For the shootout investigation.”
She smiles faintly. “He probably won’t be ready until tomorrow morning.”
Another nod and she leaves.
And we’re alone.
My breathing stutters. He’s okay. Hewillbe okay.
But that doesn’t stop the memory from seizing me.
His body dropping like a sack of bricks.
The blood.
The way his colleagues screamed his name.
The horrifying stillness before I knew he was breathing.
