"I'm starting her on a low dose of morphine for the pain," he explained, his voice low. "It might make her drowsy, but it should help with the immediate discomfort." I nodded my understanding, watching as he administered the drug through one of the IV lines. Cadence's eyes fluttered at the sensation, her grip on my hand momentarily tightening before relaxing slightly as the medication began to take effect.
A junior nurse approached the bed, her hands reaching for the hem of the t-shirt I'd given Cadence at the bunker.
"We need to remove this to properly assess-" Cadence's reaction was immediate and visceral. Her body jerked as if electrocuted, a high, keening sound escaping her throat as she tried to curl into herself, her eyes wild with renewed panic.
"Leave the bloody shirt on," I snapped, my voice harsher than I'd intended but effective. The nurse froze, her hands hovering uncertainly. Dr Reynolds intervened, his voice calm but authoritative.
"Document the patient's distress. We'll defer removal for now and work around it." He glanced at me, a flicker of understanding in his tired eyes. "The shirt stays for now." I nodded my thanks, turning my attention back to Cadence, who was trembling violently despite the warming blankets.
"It's okay, Princess," I murmured. "The shirt stays. I promise."
The team continued their assessment, working carefully around the t-shirt, documenting what they could see: the restraint marks on her wrists and ankles, the pattern of bruising across her exposed skin, the lacerations that were covered but not cleaned, preserving potential evidence for later forensic examination.
"SARC has been notified," a nurse murmured to Dr Reynolds. "They'll send someone as soon as she's stable enough." I knew what that meant, Sexual Assault Referral Centre. The confirmation of what we all suspected, what the state of her body and the man zipping up his pants made sickeningly obvious. My jaw clenched so hard I could hear my teeth grind, but I forced my expression to remain neutral, not wanting Cadence to sense my rage and mistake it for being directed at her.
As the secondary survey continued, Cadence's panic began to escalate again. She started pulling at the cannula in her arm, her movements jerky and uncoordinated. The oxygen mask came loose as she half-rose from the bed, her face contorted in silent, tearless crying. My jacket slipped from her shoulder, and I quickly pulled it back up, shielding her from the clinical gazes around us.
"It stays," I said firmly, meeting Dr Reynolds' eyes over Cadence's head. "Everything stays until she's ready."
The nurses attempted to de-escalate the situation, murmuring their names as they approached her, and encouraging me to continue talking to her.
"Logan, keep talking to her. That's good. You're doing great." But despite their efforts and mine, Cadence's distress only worsened. She thrashed against the ECG leads, wincing as the movement pulled at various injuries. She tried to rip out the IV again, her fingers clawing at the tape securing it to her skin.
"Please," she sobbed, the word barely recognisable through her raw throat. "Don't touch me. Please don't touch me again." Dr Reynolds drew me slightly aside, his voice low enough that Cadence couldn't hear.
"She's harming herself," he explained, his expression grave. "We need to calm her enough to continue treatment safely. I recommend a mild sedative, just enough to take the edge off herpanic and allow us to help her without causing further trauma." The suggestion felt like a knife to my gut. Sedating her seemed like another violation, another way of taking her control away. But watching her thrash against the medical equipment, seeing the terror in her eyes as she relived whatever horrors she'd endured, I knew he was right. She was hurting herself in her panic, and we needed to help her.
"What will you give her?" I asked, my voice rough with emotion.
"I'll start with a low dose of lorazepam," he replied. "It's an anxiolytic; it should help calm her without knocking her out completely. If that's not sufficient, we may need to consider something stronger, but we'll take it step by step." I swallowed hard, hating myself for what I was about to agree to, but knowing it was necessary.
"Okay," I said finally. "But I stay with her. The whole time." Dr Reynolds nodded.
"Of course." I returned to Cadence's side, leaning close to her ear.
"Princess," I murmured, "they're going to give you something to help you relax a little. It won't hurt you, I promise. It'll just make things a bit easier." I had no idea if she understood me, if my words penetrated the fog of terror that surrounded her, but I had to try.
The nurse administered the sedative slowly through the IV, and we all watched the monitors closely as it began to take effect. Cadence continued to fight it at first, her fingers clutching at my shirt as if it were a lifeline.
"Don't leave," she whispered, her eyes struggling to stay open. "Please don't leave me."
"Never," I vowed, my voice breaking on the word. "I'm right here, Princess. I'm not going anywhere." Gradually, her bodybegan to yield to the medication. The tremor in her forearms faded, her jaw unclenched, her shoulders relaxed beneath the warming blankets. Her eyelids fluttered, fighting the pull of the sedative, but eventually they closed, her breathing evening out into a rhythm that, while still shallow, was steadier than before.
"Patient sedated for distress and safety," a nurse announced for the scribe to record. "Continuous monitoring ongoing." I kept my hand exactly where hers had last gripped it, letting her fingers slack around my knuckles. With my other hand, I gently brushed a strand of matted hair from her forehead, careful to avoid the laceration at her temple that had been cleaned and dressed while she was distressed. The warm hiss of the forced-air blower under the blankets, the soft click of a clamp, the sting of antiseptic as another laceration was dressed, these sounds filled the now-quieter room as the immediate crisis passed and the team continued their work with less urgency but no less care.
A woman in plain clothes entered the room, her ID badge identifying her as the hospital's lead nurse for safeguarding. She conferred quietly with Dr Reynolds before approaching me.
"Mr Bale," she said, her voice professional but kind. "I'm Sarah Jenkins, the safeguarding lead. I want to assure you that we've notified all the appropriate authorities, the police liaison, and the Sexual Assault Referral Centre. I am also in liaison with the Trivium. There won't be any interviews or examinations until Miss Turner is stable and conscious enough to consent, but we do have procedures in place to ensure her safety and to preserve any evidence." I nodded, unable to formulate a proper response. The clinical discussion of "evidence" made my stomach turn, the reality of what had been done to Cadence hitting me anew with each professional interaction.
"There will be a police officer posted outside," she continued. "Standard procedure in cases like this." Cases like this. As ifthere were other cases like this. As if anyone could have endured what Cadence had and survived.
Dr Reynolds returned to update me on Cadence's condition, his words carefully chosen. "We've stabilised her vitals," he explained. "Her temperature is slowly coming up, and the fluids are helping with her dehydration. We'll keep her sedated, warm, and observed for now. The next steps will be imaging to check for internal injuries and consultation with SARC when appropriate." I nodded again, unable to find words that wouldn't emerge as either a roar of rage or a sob of grief.
A nurse approached hesitantly.
"Mr Bale, would you mind shifting to this chair at the head of the bed? We need to secure her lines fully, and it would be easier if you were seated." I moved a few inches to the chair, never breaking contact with Cadence's hand. The chair was positioned so that I could still see her face and still touch her, but was far enough out of the way that the medical team could work more efficiently.
As they adjusted monitors and secured lines, I pulled out my phone, knowing that the others would be desperate for news. I typed a brief update to the main group that had been set up with my free hand, barely able to form coherent sentences.
