Without another word, I turn on my heel and storm out of the security office, pushing through startled nurses, past the hum of late-night hospital chaos. Every part of me is focused, running hot with rage and cold with dread.
I head straight for the emergency exit, the one I watched Elena vanish through. I take the corner fast, nearly slipping on the tile, adrenaline making my vision tunnel. Every instinct screams at me to hurry, to not let her get further away.
The door slams against the wall as I throw it open, the metal shuddering. I burst into the stairwell, boots pounding down the concrete steps two at a time.
I shove open the emergency exit, the door banging against the wall with a hollow clang. Cold night air rushes in, stinging my face and clearing my head. I take the steps two at a time and burst out into the parking lot, heart pounding, scanning the rows of cars and the shadowed edges of the lot.
No wheelchair. No trace of Elena. No sign of Bella.
My breath fogs in the air as I stand there, fists clenched, fighting the urge to scream. For a second, all I hear is the hum of streetlights, the distant sound of a siren, the dull throb of blood in my ears.
I start moving, eyes searching for anything—a dropped scarf, a tire mark, a van door closing. I look under every floodlight, check behind the dumpsters, circle the perimeter, ignoring the bite of the wind and the ache in my legs.
But the lot is empty. She’s gone.
Bella is gone.
I press my hands to my head, forcing myself to think, to breathe.
The scream rips through the night—sharp, terrified, unmistakably Bella’s. A split second later, a gunshot cracks through the parking lot, echoing off metal and concrete. My instincts take over. I’m running before I even know it, my hand already on my gun, the world narrowing to the sound of my feet pounding the pavement and the wild, desperate hope burning in my chest.
There’s movement ahead—a shadow slipping away between two cars, limping, clutching their side. I barely register them, because all I see is the crumpled shape on the ground, hair spilled across the asphalt, blood pooling dark beneath her.
“Bella!”
My heart drops out of my chest as I drop to my knees beside her, the gun forgotten in my fist. I reach for her, voice cracking, hands trembling. “Bella, stay with me—please, stay with me?—”
There’s blood everywhere, soaking into her clothes, her skin. My chest is tight, breath coming too fast. I can’t lose her. I can’t. I don’t care if it’s reckless or pathetic—I press my forehead to hers, my voice breaking. “I love you. I love you, do you hear me? You can’t leave me. I can’t?—”
Then her lashes flutter. Her hand twitches in mine, and she stirs, just barely, just enough for hope to tear through me.
She blinks, eyes unfocused, lips barely moving. “That’s…not my blood,” she whispers, voice ragged but alive.
For a second, all I can do is stare at her, not believing. She shifts, grimacing, and I see her hand come up, smeared red, grippingsomething—a knife. The blade glints in the lamplight, sticky with someone else’s blood.
Bella blinks, then lifts her hand. “Think I got her,” she manages, the barest ghost of a grin on her lips.
I stare at her, heart pounding. Pride, love, and utter awe flood through me. I can’t help it—I stroke her hair, cupping her face with trembling hands. “That’s my girl,” I breathe, eyes burning.
I gather her up in my arms, barely feeling her weight, adrenaline still buzzing through every vein. “Hold on,” I whisper, tucking her head against my chest. She clings to me, breath hitching, her fingers curled tight in my shirt.
The doors fly open as I storm back inside with Bella tucked under my arm, gun shoved deep in my jacket, all eyes snapping to us as we rush through the fluorescent glare of the hallway. A nurse gasps, dropping her clipboard.
“She’s hurt!” I shout. “I need help, now!”
A wave of urgency ripples through the ER. Staff swarm us, rolling out a stretcher. I lay Bella down, brushing hair off her forehead, refusing to let go of her hand. “Stay with me,” I murmur, locking eyes with her. “Don’t let go.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” she whispers, the ghost of a smile on her lips.
A doctor appears, snapping out orders, nurses peeling Bella’s bloodied clothes away to check for wounds.
The room is quiet now, hospital lights low, machines humming in gentle rhythm. Bella sleeps in the bed, her face turned toward me, a faint frown still etched between her brows even in rest. I haven’t moved from this chair since they finished with her—every time she shifts or sighs, I’m instantly alert. I watch the rise and fall of her chest, grateful for every breath.
Nikolai comes in, and when I don’t say anything for a long time, he clears his throat impatiently.
“Elena is gone,” he says. “No sign of her anywhere in the building or on the street. She’s good.”
The thought stings more than I want to admit. “I always thought she was just a pawn in someone else’s game,” I say, my voice quieter than I mean. I look down at Bella, my thumb stroking her knuckles, needing the contact. “But obviously something else is at play. Something bigger. Something I’m not seeing yet.”
