"How much longer?" he asks.
"Two minutes. Maybe less."
He nods, then does something unexpected. He reaches up and gently brushes a curl away from my face where it had fallen across my eye. The gesture is so casual, so human, it makes me freeze for a few seconds.
"Sorry," he murmurs. "It was in your way."
I swallow hard and focus on the final stitches. "Almost done."
I tie off the last stitch just as the infirmary door bursts open. I yelp, spinning around to face the intrusion.
Two inmates I don't recognize stand in the doorway, both bleeding from minor wounds. Their eyes scan the room, landing first on me, then on James.
"Well, look who survived," one of them says, his voice carrying a thick Boston accent. "Walsh is gonna be disappointed."
James stiffens beside me, recognition flashing across his face. "Walsh?" he mutters, almost to himself. "Tiernan Walsh?"
"The one and only," the second man says with a smirk. "Sends his regards."
I watch as James processes this information, his expression shifting from confusion to realization.
"Those watches," he says under his breath. "That was years ago."
He tries to sit up, grimacing with pain. "Stay behind me," he instructs me quietly.
I should be terrified, and part of me is, but anger rises unexpectedly in my chest. This is my infirmary. My space.
"This is a medical facility," I say, stepping forward instead of back. "If you need treatment, wait your turn. Otherwise, get out."
The men exchange surprised glances, then the taller one laughs. "Brave little nurse. But we ain't here for bandaids, sweetheart. We're here for him."
James is on his feet now, swaying slightly but positioning himself between me and the door. The stitches I just placed are already straining, a small trickle of fresh blood seeping through.
"You're going to tear your stitches," I hiss at him.
"Better than getting us both killed," he mutters back.
The two men advance into the room. One holds a makeshift knife similar to what must have cut James. The other has a length of pipe torn from somewhere in the prison.
"Look," James says, his voice remarkably steady for a man who's lost as much blood as he has. "I don't know why Walsh is stillholding a grudge over those watches, but this doesn't involve her. Let her go, and we can settle this."
"No one's going anywhere," Pipe Man says. "Walsh was very specific."
I scan the room frantically, looking for a weapon, an escape route, anything. My eyes land on a cabinet behind us. I know what's inside.
"Thompson," I say quietly. "When I move, be ready."
He gives no indication he's heard me, but I sense a subtle shift in his posture.
The men are less than six feet away now. Knife Man grins, revealing missing teeth. "Don't worry, nurse. We'll make it quick for you. Him, not so much."
I lunge backward, yanking open the cabinet and grabbing the emergency fire extinguisher mounted inside. I pull the pin and squeeze the handle, aiming the spray directly at their faces.
White chemical foam blasts toward them. They curse, momentarily blinded, stumbling backward.
James moves immediately, despite his injury. He grabs a metal tray from the counter and swings it hard, connecting with Knife Man's head with a sickening clang. The man drops like a stone.
Pipe Man, wiping foam from his eyes, swings wildly. James ducks, the pipe whistling over his head. The movement tears at his stitches; I see fresh blood blossoming across his prison shirt.
