The adrenaline didn’t leave all at once.
It drained out of me slow and mean, like poison bleeding from a wound that never closed right.One minute I was standing in the basement with a gun still warm in my hand, then her breath against my neck, and the next I was in a hospital hallway that smelled like antiseptic and bad memories, watching nurses wheel her away from me.
“Sir, we need you to stay here.”
I didn’t want to stay anywhere.I wanted to go with her.I wanted my hands on her.I wanted eyes on her every second because the second I let her out of my sight once, she disappeared.
Tower’s hand landed on my shoulder, firm.“She’s breathing.She’s talking.Let them work.”
I nodded like I understood words.
I didn’t.
The hallway was too bright.Too clean.Every sound echoed.A monitor beeped somewhere down the corridor and my heart synced to it, jumping every time the rhythm stuttered.
I paced.
Back and forth.Back and forth.
I replayed everything.The chain.The way her wrists looked raw.The calm in her eyes that scared me more than if she had been screaming.The way she had said she knew would find her—like it was faith, not hope.That kind of belief is a fucking responsibility.One I couldn’t fail at.
A doctor finally came out—middle-aged, tired eyes, steady voice.“She’s stable.Dehydrated.Bruising, no breaks or pains No internal injuries that we can see right now.We’ll keep her overnight for observation.”
I exhaled for the first time in what felt like days.
“She’s asking for you.”
My knees almost buckled.
The room was dim when I walked in.Curtains half drawn.Machines murmuring softly like they were afraid to wake her.She lay propped up on pillows, IV in her arm, hair still tangled from concrete and fear.
Her eyes found mine instantly.There it was again.
That look.Relief so sharp it cut.
I crossed the room in three steps and took her hand like it might vanish if I didn’t anchor it.She squeezed back, weak but deliberate.
“You stayed,” she murmured.
I swallowed hard.“Not going anywhere.”
The words came out rougher than I meant them to.
She studied my face, her brow knitting.“You’re shaking.”
I didn’t realize I was until she said it.My hands were trembling.My chest felt hollow, like something vital had been scooped out and replaced with air.I pulled a chair close and sat, still holding on to her.
“I’m fine,” I said automatically.
She shook her head.“No, you’re not.”
That did it.Something cracked open behind my ribs, sharp and sudden.I leaned forward until my forehead rested against the side of the bed, my grip tightening like I was afraid she’d slip away again.“I thought I lost you,” I admitted, the words tearing out of me before I could stop them.“I keep seeing that room.Keep thinking if I’d been slower, if Dippy hadn’t, if you’d.”
Her fingers brushed my hair, gentle.“Dante.”
“I can’t do that again,” I whispered.“I can’t live in a world where you’re gone.”
Silence stretched between us, thick and heavy.
