Her vision swam into place. The light was bright and cold.Dante.
Right there. Eyes wide. Face close. His hand on hers. “Shan…hey… honey, stop. You’re okay.”
She shook her head or tried to. Her leg screamed. Her ribs burned and twisted. She couldn’t breathe. Tears streamed sideways into her hair. She fought. Kicked her right leg. The tube gagged her. The machines blared.
“Shannon, listen to me,” Dante said, voice low but sharp. “You’re intubated. You’re okay. It’s helping you breathe.”
She thrashed harder and tried to scream. She choked.
A nurse was suddenly there. A doctor. Nothing made sense. Another shadow. Pressure on her arm. Something injected.
“She’s spiking,”someone snapped. “Sedation?”
“No!” Dante barked. “She’s fighting because she’s scared.”
“She’s crashing,” a nurse called out.
“Give me one minute!” Dante didn’t wait for a response. He climbed halfway onto the bed and cupped her face with one hand, pressed his body against her right side, and slid his arm underneath her, holding her tight against his chest without jarring the lines.
He whispered calmly, fiercely, “I’ve got you. You’re not alone. Not for one second. Not now. Not ever.”
Her fingers curled against his arm. She stopped thrashing. She was still crying and still gasping around the machine, but not fighting anymore.
In the doorway, Sam stood silently with Ford at his shoulder. And behind them both was Mike, who hadn’t moved or spoken. Dante’s eyes locked on the image, but he didn’t stop.
Dante remained bent over Shannon, his arms around her, calming her with nothing but steadiness, warmth and voice. He wasn’t the lost boy holding on to the hospital stretcher six yearsearlier with white-knuckled fists and a blank face. His father had just died. Tony Olivetti, KIA for Chase Security. He would never repeat that scene.
Dante had stood beside his father’s flag-draped coffin like he couldn’t remember how to breathe. And now he was teaching Shannon.
Dante heard Mike’s whisper to Ford, “He’s not the same kid.”
Sam said, “He’s not going anywhere.”
Mike exhaled once and didn’t disagree.
1720 HOURS
Shannon surfaced again, slower this time. Clearer. Her body still ached, her throat burned, and the ventilator hissed at the edge of her hearing, but she didn’t panic. She remembered.
The climb. Mara calling to her, then going silent. The crash.
She tried to open her mouth, but the tube stopped her. A monitor beeped faster. Someone moved beside her.
Dante was still there, holding her hand, thumb rubbing slow circles over her wrist like he’d never stopped. Her eyes opened fully.
He leaned closer. His face was tired, unshaven. “You’re okay,” he said softly. “You’re safe. Hunt says another day or two, and they’ll try to extubate you.”
Her eyes filled. She blinked once, then twice.
Dante reached for the whiteboard Ford left earlier. “Can you move your hand?”
She lifted it. Shaky. Barely controlled.
He slid the board beneath it and passed her the marker.
The first word came slowly, the lines crooked.M-A-R-A
Dante inhaled softly. “She didn’t make it.”
