Then I turn, my spine hitting the cold metal, and my legs give out beneath me, trembling so hard they feel like they don’t belong to me anymore. I slide down, my back scraping against steel until I hit the floor. Until I hit hell. Until there’s nowhere left to fall but inward.
I sob. Deep, heaving sobs that tear through my chest and steal the air from my lungs. I can’t stop. My fists press against my sternum. I rock, desperate and small, back and forth, back and forth, as if motion might do something, anything, as if maybe if Imove enough, the universe will notice. Maybe it’ll fix this. Maybe it’ll give him back.
Please. Please. Please.
Footsteps echo down the hallway. Distant at first, then closer, then right there. Viktor.
He slips his arms under mine and hauls me upright with terrifying ease. He pulls me to the nearest chair. Forces me down, firm but careful. Then sits beside me. A wall at my back, unmoving, unbothered by the wreckage beside him.
And we wait. Minutes. Hours. Fucking years. Every time the doors open—every single time a nurse walks by, or a doctor rushes past, or even a shadow shifts in that endless fluorescent corridor—I’m on my feet before I know I’ve moved. My body launches upright like instinct alone is dragging me forward.
“Is he okay?!” I scream, voice cracking on the edges. “Where is he?!”
“Why won’t anyone fucking tell me anything?!”
But don’t even flick their eyes toward me. They keep moving, swept up in the relentless rhythm of the hospital, all business and urgency, while my entire world is collapsing at their feet.
And I’m right back on the floor again. Knees hitting tile. Hands in my hair. Nails digging into my own scalp until it stings, until I feel something other than dread. And this time, there’s no mother to hold me while she shakes apart. No father to scream at the sky until his voice breaks. No family to soften the edges of the nightmare.
Just Viktor.
There’s a small cut at his temple, barely clotting, a line of blood drying against his skin. He hasn’t wiped it away. He hasn’t said a single word. He sits beside me like a monument carved at the gates of hell, immovable, unshakeable, guarding something he refuses to let me lose.
We wait.
The sliding doors at the end of the hall hiss open again.
I don’t look.
I’m curled forward, elbows on my knees, head in my hands, breath shredding in and out of my chest in broken, useless bursts. Viktor is a silent mountain beside me, eyes fixed on the surgery doors like he can will them to open.
Then—footsteps. Quick and urgent. Too many at once. The sound of chaos rounding the corner like it’s chasing something it already lost. My body locks. Something primal starts bracing for more.
Shane’s voice cuts through first, loud and broken, the kind of sound someone makes when they’re trying not to fall apart in public. He’s yelling. “Where—where is he—fuck—Elias—?”
I flinch, but I can’t lift my head.
Then Cole’s voice, quieter than Shane’s but somehow sharper, carved from glass and buried fear. He sounds like he already knows it’s bad., but he doesn’t have time to collapse yet. “Move.”
And before I can react, before my brain even registers the command, arms are around me. Tight and familiar. Yanking me up like I’m weightless, like I didn’t spend forever drowning on this floor. I choke, my body folding in on itself, halfway between a sob and a fight, fists caught between pushing away and holding on.
But then I breathe in. Sweat. Blood. Cheap cologne. Cole.
He drops into the nearest chair, and I collapse with him, right onto his lap. His arms cage around me immediately, iron-tight, one hand in my curls, the other locked between my shoulder blades. “Got you,” he murmurs, trembling but sure. “I got you, curls. Breathe. Fucking breathe for me, okay?”
I clutch at him with shaking hands, grabbing his shirt, knuckles white, burying my face in his shoulder as another sob rips out of me. “Might—” I gasp. “Might lose—him—Cole, I—what if—what if—”
“Hey—HEY—look at me.” Cole grabs my face, forces my forehead to his. His voice is fierce, almost angry with how scared he is. “He’s Damian FUCKING Kade. You think a bus takes him out? That man eats metal for breakfast.”
I shake my head, sobbing harder, fingers twisting into his hoodie. No, he doesn't. He eats eggs and toast for breakfast.
“Look at me,” Cole whispers, softer now, thumb brushing my cheek. “He’s not gone. You hear me? He’s not gone.”
Shane wheels closer, his movements stiff and strained, the thick bandage wrapped around his foot making every inch of progress look painful. His face is pale, too pale, and he’s clearly running on adrenaline and panic alone, but still, he reaches out. His hand lands on my back, trembling.
Mats limps into view behind him, slower, quieter, eyes red and swollen. He doesn’t speak. The way he takes his place beside us says everything. Like he won’t leave. Like he’s here, no matter what we’re about to hear.
Tyler lowers himself all the way to the ground, settling at my feet like a kid at church. He doesn’t try to touch me. Doesn’t try to talk. He presses his hands together and clasps them tight, as if he’s praying in a language he’s too scared to speak aloud. As if voicing it might make it real.
