“Have you been to the hospital?” she asks, her eyes flashing with anger. “Have you seen a doctor?”
That’s where I have to draw the line. I take her hand, my grip firm. “I can’t, Mills.”
“What? Why not?”
“Because the captain can’t know I’m hurt,” I explain, the words tumbling out in a rush. “He’ll take me off the crew. He’llput me on desk duty or, worse, send me home for good. I can’t… I can’t do that. I need to be out there. I need to help rebuild.”
She stares at me, her expression a mixture of disbelief and fury. “You’re crazy,” she says, her voice low. “Absolutely crazy. You could have internal damage, a punctured lung, and you’re hiding it so you can play the hero?”
“Mills, please,” I beg, my voice cracking. “Don’t.”
She swallows, her anger softening into a deep, aching sadness. Her eyes scan my torso again. “What other injuries do you have?” she asks, her voice barely a whisper. “Show them.”
I close my eyes. I can’t. But I have to. I slowly turn, giving her a view of my back. I tell her about the pain in my hip and the one in my shoulder. I hear her sharp intake of breath.
“Fuck,” she whispers.
“Millie,” I say, my voice thick with a shame I can no longer hide.
She moves closer, her hand gently resting on my uninjured shoulder. “You should have told us,” she says, her voice breaking. “You should have told me. Or Liam. We would have helped you. We’re your friends.”
“I can’t,” I say, the words a raw confession. “I can’t be weak. Not in front of you guys. Not in front of him.”
“You should’ve told us,” she whispers.
And then she does the one thing I’m not prepared for. She wraps her arms around me, pulling me into a hug. It’s a gentle, careful embrace, her arms avoiding the worst of the bruises, but the pressure against my back is still enough to make me wince.
“Shit. I’m sorry!”
“It’s okay,” I say, my voice muffled by her hair. I press a soft kiss to the top of her head, a gesture of pure, unadulterated affection. “I’m okay.”
Knox
For a split second, my heart stops. A woman with blonde hair pulled back in a loose ponytail walks past the end of the corridor, her profile a perfect, heart-stopping echo of Millie. My entire body tenses, the Alpha inside me rising with a stupid, hopeful surge.
It’s her. It has to be.
Then she turns, and I see it’s not her. The face is all wrong, the eyes brown instead of that green that haunts my dreams. A wave of something cold and disappointing washes over me.
This is getting out of control. I’m seeing her everywhere. In the crowd at the grocery store, walking down the street, in my goddamn sleep. It’s like I’m bewitched, haunted by a scent I can’t escape and a memory I can’t outrun.
I rub a hand over my face, trying to scrub the image from my mind. I need to focus. I’m here for a reason, and it has nothing to do with a librarian with eyes that see right through me.
I push open the door to the conference room.
Mayor Jake Marshall is already there, pacing the length of the small room like a caged animal. He looks like he hasn’t slept in a week, his sandy hair disheveled, a permanent groove etched between his brows.
Seated at the table is Dr. Avery, a woman with sharp, intelligent eyes and a no-nonsense demeanor. Beside her is a man I recognize as Mr. Henderson, the hospital director. He looks pale, his hands clasped on the table as if in prayer.
“Knox,” Jake says, his voice rough. He stops pacing and gestures to a chair. “Thanks for coming.”
“Wouldn’t have missed it,” I say, my tone dry. I take a seat, the cheap plastic chair groaning under my weight. “What’s the crisis?”
Jake shares a look with Henderson, who sighs and leans forward. “It’s the generators,” he begins, his voice thin. “The temporary units we have running the hospital… they’re not enough. They’re handling the essentials, life support, and the ER, but they can’t keep up with the full load. Especially not the cold storage.”
Dr. Avery picks up where he left off, her voice clinical and precise. “The temperature in the main pharmaceutical storage unit has been fluctuating for the past seventy-two hours. We’ve been logging the data. The dips, while brief, have been enough to compromise certain medications.”
My stomach tightens. I know where this is going. “How bad is it?”
