Dante stepped closer, his voice low and steady, the kind of calm she once believed nothing could shake. “You’re safe. You’re at Chase Medical New Orleans. Hunt’s been on you from the minute we landed. You’re okay.”
Her fingers twitched on the blanket. Dante reached out, taking her hand gently, like he was afraid she might shatter under his touch. His thumb brushed her knuckles, slow and grounding. “I’m here. I’m right here.”
She stared at him until her vision stopped drifting. His face sharpened. His eyes steadied her. And then the memory struck with perfect, brutal clarity.
The flight.
The scream.
The lurch of the helicopter.
Esten slumping beside her.
The world falling away.
Shannon swallowed painfully. Her lips moved, each motion stiff and tight. She formed the word without sound, her voice still too raw to carry it.
Mara.
Dante inhaled sharply, as if the name punched the air out of him. He didn’t look away. “I know,” he whispered, his voice thick. “I know.”
The quiet but devastating truth settled through her. Mara was gone. And she lived when she shouldn’t have.
Warmth gathered in her eyes before she could stop it. The first tear slipped free, sliding down her temple into her hairline.
Dante didn’t speak or push. He just held her hand, steady and warm, anchoring her as grief finally found its way through the fog. For the first time since the crash, the smoke, and the darkness, Shannon let herself feel it. She wasn’t falling anymore. She wasn’t alone.
THIRTY
CHASE MEDICAL NEW ORLEANS – THREE DAYS LATER – 0830 HOURS
Shannon was awake when they entered. She wasn’t groggy or confused. She was clear—too clear. There was a brightness in her eyes that wasn’t strength so much as awareness of the pain, the fear, the hole Mara left, and the way her body didn’t feel like hers.
Her father stepped in first, in suit trousers and a rolled-up dress shirt. He’d flown in two nights ago and set up shop in a penthouse office for visiting senior staff.
Sam followed, hair still damp from the shower, West Point sweatshirt rumpled but clean. He looked older. Not because of aging, but because of what fear did to a man.
Dante was already there. He hadn’t left in three days.
Hunt Montgomery stood at the foot of the bed with a chart in hand, Lucas Hale beside him. Mack Browning leaned against the sink, arms crossed.
Hunt waited until they were all inside the room, then spoke plainly. “There’s still pooling in the hip capsule. The drain hasn’t cleared it. It’s not infectious, but…it’s thick. A mixture of blood and synovial fluid. Pressure is building, and if we don’t relieve it manually, your pain is going to continue to spike.”
Mike’s jaw flexed. “So what’s the plan, Hunt?”
Hunt explained, “I need to tap it, ultrasound-guided. Mack will assist. It’s going to hurt—a lot. But, Shannon, it’ll buy you real relief. And if it works, we can get you sitting upright by tomorrow.”
Sam swallowed hard. “Is it dangerous?”
Hunt shook his head. “Standard ortho intervention. The pain’s the worst part. We can do it under heavy sedation. It will knock you back a few days for the meds to clear your system.”
Shannon cleared her throat. Her voice was rough but steady. “Do it.”
Mike’s head snapped toward her. “Honey…”
She shook her head once. “Just do it. No more heavy drugs.”
Hunt met her eyes. “Okay. Let’s begin.”
