At the same time, I drove my right elbow backward into their ribs with full force.
A sharp grunt of pain broke behind me.
The pressure around my throat loosened—just slightly.
But it was enough.
I inhaled.
A single breath.
Then I spun.
Breaking the hold.
And without hesitation—
I drove my palm upward into their chin.
Teeth snapped together with a sharp, sickening clack.
I followed immediately with a knee to the midsection—hard enough to fold them completely.
Then I hooked an arm around their torso, lifting with raw strength—
And threw them.
Their body slammed into the concrete with a heavy, echoing impact.
Air burst from their lungs in a pained gasp.
Silence fell again.
I dropped to one knee instantly.
Glock raised. Barrel centered.
Finger steady on the trigger.
And then—
I saw her.
“Elena...”
The word left my lips before I could stop it.
She lay on her back, chest rising and falling in uneven, shallow breaths.
Her dark hair was plastered to her forehead, damp with sweat.
Her hospital gown—torn at the shoulder—hung loosely from her frame, stained with dried blood and traces of amniotic fluid.
Her skin was pale.
Bruises marked her throat.
But her eyes—
