Then—a cry of pain.
Zane.
My stomach twists. The sound is unmistakable, raw and agonized.
My feet stutter. I start to turn back, but Damon barks, “Keep moving, Mia.Now.”
I can barely think, barely breathe, but I force myself forward.
Damon hands back the twins, shoving them into my arms. Their little faces are tear-streaked, their sobs muffled against my chest as I pull them close.
“Zane,” My voice cracks. “He’s?—”
“Alive,” Damon grits out. “But we have to secure you before we go back out there.”
The words feel like a knife to my ribs, but I know he’s right. I clutch Emma and Ella tighter, whispering reassurances I don’t believe as Damon punches the code into the panel.
Another round of gunfire sounds outside. Footsteps storm through the lower level.
Damon pushes me through the threshold. “Stay put. Donotopen this door unless you hear my voice.”
“Stay with them,” Asher tells Damon from the bottom of the staircase. His voice is clipped, focused, but when his eyes finally meet mine—for the first time in days—there’s something else there. Something raw.
“I’ll get Zane,” Asher says.
Before I can process that, voices filter in from outside.
“Contact confirmed. One threat neutralized. We move in.”
I don’t recognize the voice. It isn’t Damon. It isn’t Asher. And it sure as hell isn’t Zane.
Asher stiffens. “Shit.” He starts forward.
“Like hell you’re going alone.” I move before I can second-guess myself, stepping into his path. “I’m a nurse. If he’s hurt?—”
“No,” both Damon and Asher cut me off. Different voices, but same damn answer.
I whirl on Damon. “Stay with the twins. They need you.”
He’s already shaking his head. “Mia?—”
“I’ll be fine,” I cut him off, already moving. I don’t wait for permission. I don’t need it.
Damon swears behind me, but he doesn’t follow. He won’t leave the girls. Hecan’t.
I fall into step beside Asher, my heart hammering in my chest. I don’t have a gun. I don’t have training. But I have my hands, my knowledge, and the sheer refusal to let Zane bleed out alone.
Asher doesn’t argue. He just curses under his breath and presses a spare earpiece into my hand. “Stay behind me.” It’s not a request.
I clip it in place as we reach the end of the hall. The front door is ajar. The night outside is thick with tension.
Then we hear it: a pained groan.
Zane.
Asher meets my gaze for a split second before he slips through the door. I follow without hesitation.
We find Zane slumped against the garden wall, one hand pressed to his shoulder. Blood seeps between his fingers, dark against his shirt. My stomach twists.
