Helpless.
I look past the nurse. Past the doctor. To Sera.
She's looking back at me. Tears streaming down her face.
And then they wheel her through the double doors.
The doors close.
And she's gone.
I stand there in the empty hallway. Staring at those doors.
Hands curled into fists. Jaw clenched so hard it aches.
I've watched my father die. I've killed men with my bare hands. I've survived assassination attempts and hostile takeovers and war with rival families.
I've never been scared.
Not like this.
Not this bone-deep, consuming terror that steals my breath and makes my hands shake.
Because I can't control this.
Can't fix it.
Can't do anything except stand here and wait while strangers decide if my wife lives or dies.
If my son lives or dies.
If everything I've built, everything I've fought for, everything I love gets ripped away.
The hallway is too bright. Too quiet.
I can't move. Can't think. Can only stand here.
Waiting.
This is the worst moment of my life.
And all I can do is pray to a God I don't believe in that she survives.
That they both survive.
Because if they don't?—
If they don't, nothing else matters.
Not the family. Not the power. Not revenge or justice or anything.
None of it matters without her.
Without them.
So, I wait.
And I pray.
