Twice, her heart wavered. Nine-second flatline that stretched into eternity. But they brought her back after they replaced blood volume.
They repaired the liver bleed and stabilized the pelvic bruise. Hunt stabilized each splintered rib with three layers of sutures. Her skin was pale as linen beneath the surgical lights. The hip stayed out.
By the time Hunt peeled off his gloves, his arms shook with the effort of keeping them steady. Lucas sat back on his stool, drenched in sweat. The young surgeon’s eyes looked unfocused.
“She’ll need more surgery once she stabilizes,” Hunt said quietly. “But she’s alive.”
“Hang the eighth unit,” Lucas said. “I’ll call our ortho, Hedley, for a consult when she’s in.”
“She’s lucky,” the surgical tech said.
“No,” Hunt said, “she’s alive. Luck didn’t do this.” He stepped out of the OR into the silence of the corridor and exhaled.
POST-OP RECOVERY – 1117 HOURS
The elevator doors hissed open with a tired groan. Two ICU nurses waited just outside, gurney rails locked, crash cart shadowing them like a ghost.
“She’s ready.” Hunt stepped back as Shannon’s gurney was wheeled out of OR 3.
Her blood pressure remained low, her pulse thready but holding. Tubes ran from her arms and chest. She was intubated, tube taped to her mouth, oxygen hissing gently through the vent. Her left leg was immobilized in a traction rig, bent slightly outward to avoid tension on the displaced hip.
“She’s stable for now,” Hunt told the charge nurse. “We got the liver bleed under control. Chest tube’s in. Lung re-expanded. Left hip’s out, so don’t move her. There’s deep-tissue trauma and a hematoma we didn’t touch. I want a repeat chest and hip films. And a head-to-toe CT scan.”
“Neuro checks?”
“She was intact,” Lucas added. “Responsive on scene. She spoke, tried to ask about her copilot. Check q15 for the first hour. If they remain intact, q30.”
The nurse nodded. “We’ll monitor swelling and keep her hip cooled until ortho can review.”
Hunt walked beside the gurney as they wheeled her into ICU Room 4. Inside, the light was lower. Calmer.
“Pain’s going to hit hard when she wakes.” He adjusted one of the IV lines. “We’ll keep her under as long as feasible.”
The nurse hesitated. “Is she going to wake up?”
Hunt’s eyes lingered on Shannon for a long moment. “She will. Hopefully on our terms and not hers. Bone fractures are the worst.” He left the room without another word.
TWENTY-FOUR
CHASE SECURITY JET – SOMEWHERE OVER GEORGIA
The jet was fast. The inside of the Chase Security Gulfstream was silent.
Dante Olivetti sat across from Mike Johnson, his suit jacket folded neatly in his lap, though his tie was long gone, his shirt collar open. They hadn’t spoken since takeoff. Ford Cox sat near the front bulkhead, phone in one hand, medical updates coming via tablet in the other. He hadn’t looked up in twenty minutes.
The cabin lights were dimmed. Diligent staff offered coffee and anything they could do.
Dante stared out the window at thirty thousand feet of empty sky and tried to breathe like a man who wasn’t afraid. He’d had a weapons jam in a firefight. He’d gone dark on recon in Yemen with blood in his boots. He’d parachuted into a snow-covered ridge with half a klick between him and comms. But nothing, not one single thing, had ever crawled under his ribs the way this did.
Mike’s voice when he told him,Her copilotEsten’s dead. Shannon coded in surgery.The world tilted again. Like gravity wasn’t reliable anymore.
Dante closed his eyes.You said you’d come home.He dropped her off months ago, with her duffel in the back of his truck. With her hair still smelling like his pillow and her fingers tangled in his shirt at three a.m. when she whispered,I don’t know what this is, but it doesn’t feel temporary.
He hadn’t answered then. He was answering now.
“Sean pulled strings,” Ford broke the silence. “Got your name cleared for base access before Mike even called you.”
Dante blinked.
