This is who he is when things go wrong: focused, efficient, and deadly. And God help me, part of me understands now why he walked away without looking back. Why he disappears. Why he doesn’t stay.
Men like this don’t get to live soft lives or keep the things they love.
A figure rushes from the left side of the screen, and Ryder turns just as the shot hits. A scream tears out of me before I can stop it—sharp, raw, and useless. Julian startles again, violently crying now, his little body trembling against mine.
Ryder stumbles, but he doesn’t fall. He adjusts, fires back, and drops the man who hit him, ending him with a single shot. The monitors show him pressing forward despite the injury, his movements just a fraction slower now, his posture tighter.
Another red marker vanishes, leaving only one. Ryder advances, and the last man fires wildly, panic evident even through the grainy feed. Ryder moves to the flank, but the second shot hits him in the abdomen.
Time stops as I watch Ryder stagger backward, one hand flying to his stomach. He stays upright through sheer will, returning fire with terrifying calm.
The final red marker disappears, and the mountain goes still. The silence is worse than the alarms.
Ryder stands alone in the dark, breathing hard, blood soaking through his clothes. He turns toward the house, takes a step, and another with Rook by his side until he’s a step away from the front door. Then the feed jolts violently as the camera angle shifts just as Ryder goes down.
That’s all I need to see before jumping into action.
“I’m coming,” I whisper, clutching Julian tighter before gently lowering him into Ash’s protective embrace. “Stay. Guard him.”
Ash whines once, sharp and unhappy, but he doesn’t move.
I sprint for the door and listen as steel disengages, locks releasing, the house letting me go even though every system in it was built to keep me exactly where I am. I don’t hesitate long enough to feel guilty.
Outside, the night smells like wet earth, gunpowder, and blood—all of it sharp enough to make my stomach twist. I slip on the stone porch, catching myself on the railing, heart hammering so hard it feels like it’s trying to claw its way out of my chest.
“Ryder!” I shout in panic when I see him collapsed near the front steps, half on his side, his hair plastered to his face, blood dark and unmistakable against the stone. For one terrifying second, my mind refuses to accept what my eyes are seeing.
“No,” I whisper, stumbling toward him. “No, no, no.”
I drop to my knees beside him, my hands hovering uselessly over his body because I don’t know where to touch without hurting him more. His chest rises, shallow and uneven. Thank God. He’s still alive.
“Hey,” I shake him, my voice trembling as I brush wet hair back from his face. “Hey, stay with me. You hear me?”
His eyes flutter open, a bit unfocused, then settle on me with visible effort. “You… shouldn’t… be here,” he rasps.
I huff out something between a laugh and a sob. “Yeah, well. I’m terrible at following rules.”
He tries to smirk, but it doesn’t quite work.
I slide my arms under his shoulders and brace my feet, adrenaline burning through my veins. He’s heavy—solid in a way that reminds me just how real he is—but I don’t stop.
“I’ve got you,” I tell him, more fiercely than I feel. “I’m here.”
I drag him inch by inch toward the door, my muscles screaming, breath coming in sharp gasps. He groans when I shift him, his hand clutching weakly at my arm.
“Kate—“
“Don’t,” I cut in. “Don’t talk. Save it.”
The door looms ahead, salvation in the shape of reinforced steel. I manage to get him inside, slamming the door shut behind us with my foot before collapsing beside him on the floor.
I don’t give myself time to think as I strip off his jacket, hands shaking as I assess the damage. The bullet wound in his leg is bad but manageable. It’s through and through, but the one in his abdomen makes my stomach drop.
“Okay,” I whisper, forcing my voice steady. “Okay. We can do this.”
I grab towels, press them against the wound, applying pressure the way I remember from first aid videos and half-forgotten classes. Blood soaks through almost instantly, hot and slick against my hands.
Ryder groans, eyes drifting shut.
