And he knows.
This is over for him.
The ER doorsslide open and the world goes fluorescent—cold, bright, too much.
“Help!” Aubrey calls. “She’s been drugged, she can’t stand?—”
A triage nurse takes one look at Wren in my arms and waves us through.
“Set her down here. How long has she been like this?”
“Twenty minutes,” I manage. “She was fine, then she couldn’t stand. She’s cold. Not responding right.”
They move fast. Pulse ox. Blood pressure. Warm blanket.
“Pulse elevated. Breathing slightly slow. Pupils reactive.” The nurse’s eyes flick to mine. “Did she take anything?”
“She didn’t choose it,” I say. Every word scrapes my throat. “A guy put something in her drink.”
Her expression hardens. “We’ll run labs. She’s stable enough to monitor. You did the right thing bringing her in quickly.” She hesitates. “Has there been any sexual contact you’re worried about?”
My heart slams against my ribs. “No.” The word tears out of me. “I got there before—before he could do anything.”
“We’ll talk to her again when she’s a little more awake,” the nurse says evenly. “If she remembers anything different, we have options for evidence collection and support. For now, let’s focus on keeping her stable.”
My knees almost give. If I hadn’t intercepted him…
They shift her on the bed, and I try to step back, but Wren whimpers and reaches blindly.
“I’m here,” I say, catching her hand. “Right here.”
Her lashes flutter. “Kieran...”
“Yeah, sweetheart.” My thumb drags over her knuckles. “I’ve got you.”
They hook her up. Ask questions. Time blurs into beeps and soft footsteps. A middle-aged doctor steps into the bay, calm but focused.
“She’s stable,” he says. “Her vitals are holding, and she’s responding to supportive care. Based on her presentation, this looks consistent with an involuntary sedative, likely a low dose.”
Aubrey swallows. “Can you tell what it was?”
“Not from routine labs,” the doctor says. “Those don’t pick up most sedatives used recreationally or in assaults. Ifyou’d like, we can send blood and urine for a specialized tox screen. It’s optional, but I recommend it, especially if she decides to report this.”
“Yes,” Aubrey says immediately. “Please.”
My voice is low and lethal. “Do the tests.”
The doctor nods once. “We’ll collect now. Results may take several days.”
“She’s going to be okay?” My voice sounds foreign.
He nods. “You got her here fast. That matters.”
Aubrey covers her mouth, tears spilling over.
His gaze drops briefly to my hand, where dried blood rims the split skin across my knuckles.
“You should have those cleaned and wrapped,” he says. “We can get you some gauze.”
