Aurora’s medical team rushes over. They push me aside gently and start working. Assessing injuries. Applying pressure to wounds. Starting IV lines.
I kneel beside him. Can’t move. Can’t look away.
He went back for her. For Kaylin. Went back into that facility alone when he could have escaped. Risked everything to save one more person.
The bond strengthens slightly. His consciousness flickering. He’s fighting to stay aware, even though his body is shutting down. His eyes open slightly. Unfocused. But they find mine.
“Did she—?” His voice is practically inaudible. “Kaylin—”
“They have her. She’s alive. You got her out.”
He nods slightly, relief crossing his face despite the pain. Then his eyes close again, consciousness slipping away.
The medics work fast. Efficient. Professional. But there’s so much blood. So many injuries.
Viktor appears beside me. Looks at Jericho. At me. At the situation.
“He’s going back to Aurora,” Viktor says. “Medical facility. Full treatment.”
“He’s under arrest,” I say quietly, stating the reality we both know.
“He’s under medical care.” Viktor’s voice is firm. “We’ll deal with the rest after he’s stable.”
After.
If there is an after.
Don’t think about that now.
He’s alive. That’s what matters.
Everything else—the treason, the charges, the impossible future—we’ll figure out later.
If we make it that far.
Chapter 32
Jericho
Pain registers first. Not sharp. Not acute. Just a dull, pervasive ache that seems to come from everywhere and nowhere simultaneously.
I try to process where I am. Can’t. My thoughts are sluggish. Disconnected. Like trying to think through deep water.
My body feels wrong. Heavy. Parts of me I should be able to move won’t respond. My dragon stirs weakly deep inside. Injured. Healing, but slowly.
Sounds filter through the fog. Beeping. Steady. Rhythmic. Medical equipment of some kind.
I try to open my eyes. The command doesn’t reach my eyelids. Too much effort. Too much distance between intention and action.
Something warm presses against my hand. Pressure. Gentle. Human contact.
I focus on that warmth. Anchor myself to it. Try to squeeze back. My fingers might move. Might not. Can’t tell.
A scent reaches me. Wolf. Female. Familiar in ways I can’t articulate through the haze.
Safe. That scent means safe.
Then I’m sinking again. Not pain. Not fear. Just absence. The world fading to black.
