But just as we reach the exit, the medics rush in, and we’re stopped dead in our tracks.
A uniformed paramedic, a man in his mid-forties with tired eyes and a sharp gaze, raises a hand to stop us as his partner rushes to the girl’s side.
“Hold up,” he says. “You were the ones who called it in?”
I blink. Oh, right. The broken entrance door. The total disregard for subtlety. Also, the glaringly obvious fact that no normal person just wanders into an abandoned building for fun and accidentally stumbles upon a drowning victim.
“Yes,” Nathaniel steps up. “We were driving by and saw something move under the pool cover through the windows. We weren’t sure, but it didn’t look right, so we stopped to check.”
The paramedic’s eyes narrow. “And you… broke in?”
“Seemed quicker than looking for a key,” Nathaniel replies.
I hate that even in this moment—even with the fresh crime scene energy all over this place—he somehow looks trustworthy. Without all his piercings, and with that calm, take-my-hand-I-won’t-let-you-die voice he’s using, he could pass for a responsible citizen.
How is he even doing it? It shouldn’t be possible. I swear that back at the abandoned hospital he looked like a walking menace.
The paramedic studies him, then glances at the girl, still breathing—alive, thanks to us. I hold my breath, waiting for more questions, more scrutiny—maybe even the part where the guys get tased and arrested.
Instead, the man exhales sharply and rubs a hand over his jaw.
“Well,” he mutters. “Looks like you saved her life.”
Talon whistles under his breath, amused. Cassian remains unreadable. Nathaniel just nods like this was the only logical outcome all along.
“We just did what anyone would’ve,” he says smoothly.
I nearly roll my eyes.Liar.
The paramedic nods, then waves us off. “Alright, get out of here. Let us do our job.”
We don’t need to be told twice.
I walk fast, my legs carrying me away from the three of them before my brain even catches up.
“Skye,” Nathaniel calls after me.
I pretend I don’t hear him. I keep walking until we’re far enough from the pool that I don’t feel like reality is actively melting down.
Then I whip around to face these three idiots responsible for this absolute catastrophe.
“What thefuckwas that?”
Now, listen. I don’t normally cuss. My ex-husband hated it, so I trained myself out of it like some tragic Victorian housewife who clutches her pearls at the word damn. But right now? Right now, my soul demandsviolence.
I want to blaspheme these men into oblivion. I want to call upon every unholy force in existence and drag their collective asses into the underworld for a lecture on why they are the absolute worst.
But before I can even start, Nathaniel interrupts me.
“What was what?” he asks, smooth as ever, as if he’s genuinely confused why I’m about to combust.
I take a sharp step forward, jabbing a finger at him. I don’t touch him, but I pretend to.
“Don’t. Do. That. Don’t act like you don’t know exactly what I’m talking about. Yousavedher.”
“She wasn’t supposed to die,” he replies, as if this is the most obvious thing in the world.
I scoff. “She did die.”
