They prepped quickly. They pulled back her blankets, set up sterile chux beneath her. A tech wheeled the ultrasound in.
Mack cleaned the lateral hip with antiseptic, the cold sting making Shannon hiss softly where it hit her wound. He draped the area.
Dante moved closer, sitting on the opposite edge of the bed, one hand sliding gently into hers. “Right here. Don’t look at them. Look at me.”
She did. Because she always did.
“Needle,” Hunt called. “This will get you a little relief.”
Fifteen minutes later, the probe pressed into her skin. The image flickered into focus: a crescent of shadow where the fluid pooled. Hunt looked at her through his face shield. “I’m glad we’re doing this. Your body wouldn’t reabsorb this.”
Mack steadied her hip, and Hunt angled the needle. “This is the worst part,” he warned. “Deep breath.”
And then a white-hot pain knifed through her hip.
Shannon’s breath hitched. Her free hand clawed the blanket as the needle pushed deeper, pressure building like fire behind her hip joint. A sound escaped her that didn’t fit words, part gasp, part broken cry.
Dante leaned in, forehead to hers. “Breathe. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”
Her nails dug into his arm as another harder spike of pain hit. A sob escaped her throat.
And Dante held her tighter. “I’m right here, Shannon. Look at me. Stay with me.”
Tears streamed down her face. The syringe chamber darkened as the thick, viscous burgundy fluid drained.
“Good,” Hunt murmured. “Almost there.”
Shannon whimpered, chest shaking, and Dante kissed her temple. “Almost done. You’re doing great.”
Hunt withdrew the needle. The pain didn’t vanish, but it eased. The pressure she’d been feeling was gone. Shannon collapsed back against the pillows, breath shaking. Sweat clung to her hairline.
Hale cleared the drapes and chux, then adjusted her blankets. Mack checked the drain line again inserted during the first hip surgery. Thin reddish-tinged fluid began to fill the drain’s bulb.
“It worked,” Hunt said quietly. “We should be able to pull the drain soon.”
Mike exhaled, shoulders sagging. Sam wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.
“Keep this up and tomorrow, you’ll get out of bed.” Mack smiled at her. “I’ll bring you a fresh ice pack.”
“Thanks.” Shannon sighed.
The room wasquiet after visiting hours for the rest of the facility. The city hummed softly beyond the window. The monitors blinked in pale greens and golds. Shannon lay awake, face turned toward the dim light.
Dante sat in the chair beside her.
She reached for him, needing him. “Will you…” She swallowed and started again. “Dante, will you hold me?”
He didn’t hesitate. He climbed carefully onto the bed, avoiding her hip, bracing behind her, lightly wrapping an arm around her chest and letting her head rest against his shoulder.
She melted into him instantly, and the dam broke. A shudder. Then another. Then a sob so raw, it tore through her whole body.
Dante gathered her closer, hand moving slowly through her hair. “It’s okay.” He kissed her temple. “Let it out. I’m here.”
She twisted her fingers into the front of his shirt and cried harder. It all came out. The grief for Mara, fear from the fall, rage at Krueger, the shock of nearly dying. Every piece of it poured out.
And he held her through all of it. He kissed her tears as they fell. He whispered her name like a promise. He rocked her gently until her breathing softened, until the shaking faded, until the pain simmered into exhaustion.
Eventually, her grip loosened, and her tears stopped. She fell asleep in his arms. But Dante stayed awake, holding her long after the room went still.
