Sam sits in the chair closest to me.
I know this hurts him probably more than it hurts me, and I turn away, wanting to protect his little bit of privacy, but his eyes are bloodshot.
No one speaks.
We don’t need to.
Every one of us is suspended in the same fragile place betweenhe willandwhat if he doesn’t. My mind keeps replaying the warehouse without permission—the gunshot, the way Zack’s body folded, the sound his breath made when it left him too fast. I replay the warmth of his blood on my hands, the way the world narrowed until there was only him and the terrible certainty that love doesn’t protect you from pain, it just gives pain a target.
I lean closer to the bed, lowering my voice like he can hear me even if I don’t know whether he can. “You’re being very dramatic,” I murmur softly. “You know that, right? If you wanted everyone together, you could’ve just asked.”
Leyla lets out a quiet, broken laugh across the room, and Cameron’s hand tightens around hers.
“I need you to wake up,” I continue, brushing my thumb over the faint scar on Zack’s knuckle, grounding myself in the familiar. “You don’t get to disappear on me after everything wesurvived. I didn’t say what I said last night just to send it into the void.”
My throat tightens, but I keep my voice steady. “Sam’s here,” I add gently. “You remember Sam, your little brother. He drove four hours and pretended he wasn’t scared the whole way. He came just for you.”
Sam snorts softly despite himself, eyes fixed on his brother.
“Lincoln’s here, too,” I go on. “And Cameron and Leyla are safe. You did that. You can stop fighting for a minute and let us take it from here.”
Lincoln shifts, clearing his throat quietly. “He’s stubborn,” he says, his voice rough but fond. “Always has been.”
Sam nods once, jaw tight.
I rest my forehead briefly against the back of Zack’s hand, breathing in the faint, familiar scent of him beneath antiseptic and plastic. “You don’t get to scare me like this again,” I whisper, equal parts plea and promise. “I already chose you once. Don’t make me choose again.”
The machines keep their steady rhythm. The room holds its breath with us.
And we wait, but not helpless, not hopeless, just holding the line until Zack decides to come back to us.
CHAPTER FIFTY
STOLEN MEMORIES
ZACK
Sound comes back first.
Not cleanly—nothing ever does—but in layers, like someone slowly tuning a radio.
A steady beep. The soft hiss of air. Footsteps that stop when they realize I’m listening. And then a voice, closer than the rest, threaded through everything like it belongs there. I want to go home, I think my home is her.
“—you don’t get to scare me like this again.”
Hazel.
The name anchors me before I understand why it matters. It pulls at something deep in my chest, something instinctive and urgent, like reaching for the ground when you don’t trust your balance. I try to move toward the sound, and realize I can’t. My body feels heavy, distant, as if it belongs to someone else and I’ve just been borrowing it badly.
“Zack,” she says again, softer now. “If you can hear me, you should know I’m not leaving.”
I want to answer. I want to answerher.
I want to tell her I hear her that I’m trying, that I’m right here, and stuck, and fighting my way back inch by inch, but my mouth won’t cooperate. Panic flickers, sharp and fast, and I push against it the way I’ve pushed against everything my whole life—head down, teeth clenched, refusing to stay down just because it hurts.
Come on.
I focus on her voice. On the way she says my name like it’s a fact, not a question. I follow it the way you follow a line of light in the dark, and the pressure in my chest eases just enough that I can take a real breath.
