My fingers tighten around the phone until my knuckles ache. “Yes,” I manage.
“I’m calling from St. Agnes Hospital. Your sister, Hope Bellamy, was brought in by ambulance about an hour ago with seizure activity. You’re listed as her emergency contact.”
The words knock the air from my lungs. The room seems to shrink, closing in until I can’t tell where my panic ends and the walls begin. “Yes, I’m her sister,” I whisper.
“There doesn’t appear to be any head trauma to indicate a fall,” the woman continues. “We administered benzodiazepine, and she responded quickly.”
I drag a shaking hand through my hair, gripping the strands at my scalp as if the sting will help me think. “Who called for the ambulance?”
“The name Hannah is listed as the caller.”
I nod even though she can’t see me, my chest tight and airless. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
“Ask for Nurse Barrow at the desk.”
“Okay,” I breathe, the taste of bile sharp in my throat.
The line clicks off. I stare at the wall, the words looping in my head.Hope. Seizure. Ambulance.
My stomach twists as I lower the phone. “We’re going,” I insist, turning to Luka, my voice breaking on the edge of panic. “Now.”
He looks at Misha, then back at me. “We will take two cars and a blocker. I will call Kolya. We leave in five minutes.”
Misha disappears down the hall, the sound of his boots fading into the quiet. For a moment, all I hear is the low hum of my pulse racing. Luka sends a quick message, then moves, shattering the stillness. I follow him out of the room, the echo of our footsteps trailing down the stairs like a heartbeat I can’t steady.
We step onto the porch. The aspens shimmer below us, gold and trembling, their leaves flashing like coins in the dim morning light. A black SUV idles in the drive, its headlights slicingthrough the fog. Misha is already in the driver’s seat. Another car waits at the end of the lane.
Luka opens the rear door with that old-world composure that feels both infuriating and disarming. Vega hops in first, circling once before settling. I slide into the seat next to him, the leather cool and smelling faintly of cedar and smoke. Luka takes the passenger seat, back straight, command woven into every quiet breath. The dashboard clock reads 7:40 a.m.
The engine hums to life, and we roll forward, gravel crunching beneath the tires. Vega rests his head in my lap, a quiet, solid comfort. I keep my eyes on the passing trees, trying not to think about everything I’ve lost and what’s waiting at the end of the road.
12
LUKA
The hospital reeks of antiseptics, endings, and false hope. The walls hum with the faint vibration of alarms and the low murmur of voices trying not to break. The overhead lights are too bright, bleaching everything into a sterile, lifeless state. Every surface gleams with that chemical sheen that makes me want to turn around and walk straight back out into the mountain air, where things still smell real.
Sage is beside me, but she's already gone, pulled into a world where the only thing that matters is the pale, fragile girl lying in the bed ahead of us. Hope Bellamy, her little sister. The reason Sage fights so hard. The reason she'll endure anything, even me.
The doctor and nurses move around Hope in a blur of white and motion, the machines beside her beeping in uneven rhythms. Her skin is a ghostly shade of ivory, dark-blonde hair tangled on the pillow, lashes trembling, but her eyes closed. A nurse murmurs something about oxygen levels. Another adjusts the IV line. The equipment surrounding the bed creates a fortress of medical intervention, tubes and wires connecting her fragile body to machines that breathe and monitor for her.
Sage presses forward, refusing to stay back when they ask her to give space. Her voice is soft, but every word shakes. “It's okay, Hope. I'm right here. You're safe. Do you hear me? You're safe.”
Her hand finds Hope's, her fingers tracing the pale skin where a needle disappears beneath tape. There's desperation in the movement, like she's trying to pull her sister back through sheer force of love. Her thumb makes small circles on Hope's wrist, and I can see her counting the pulse beneath her touch, needing that physical proof of life.
I stand there, useless in a room full of motion, every instinct torn between walking out and anchoring her before she falls apart. I've seen blood, fire, and bodies that never breathed again. I've ordered executions, watched men beg for mercy I wouldn't grant, and stood over graves while snow fell silent on fresh earth. But none of that looked like this. None of it hit like watching Sage crumble as she whispers her sister's name repeatedly, hoping her voice alone will be enough to make her stay.
I don't belong here. My presence is poison in a place built for healing. The nurses glance at me sideways, probably wondering what a man who looks cut from marble and menace is doing in their sterile sanctuary. Yet I can't make myself leave. My feet won't move toward the door, no matter how much my brain screams that I should disappear before I contaminate this moment further.
The doctor finally steps back. The sharp line of noise from the heart monitor steadies into a slower, measured rhythm. Someone exhales in relief. “She's stable for now,” the doctor announces, his voice the practiced calm they teach in medical school. “We'll keep her for observation, but the seizure is under control. Her vitals are improving.”
Sage nods numbly. “Stable,” she repeats softly, as if declaring the word will make it truer. Her shoulders are still rigid, her body locked in that terrible tension that comes from fearing the world will break again the moment she lets herself breathe.
The nurses finish their checks, adjust the blanket, and slip out one by one. The doctor gives Sage's shoulder a gentle squeeze before following them out. When the door closes with a soft click, the silence swells until it hums in my ears. The machine's quiet pulse is the only sound left, a metronome marking time in a space where everything else has gone still.
Sage stays bent over her sister, brushing the hair back from her damp forehead. Her tears fall onto Hope's hand, and she wipes them away quickly, like she's afraid to let her see. Even unconscious and safe, Sage won't let her sister witness her fear. She's always the strong one, the protector, even when she's breaking apart inside.
I watch her from a few feet away, my back against the far wall where the shadows gather. She looks nothing like the woman who faced me with fire in her eyes at Bean & Bloom. Her honey-blonde hair has come loose from its tie, stray strands sticking to her damp cheeks. Her lips are trembling, though she presses them together to hide it. The freckles across her nose stand out against her pale skin, and there are dark circles under her eyes that tell me she hasn't slept properly in days. But even broken, she's beautiful. Maybe more so now when I can see every raw edge of her heart exposed. This fierce, unbreakable love she has for her sister is something pure in a world I've spent my entire life making darker.
