Noah was covered in blood but still fighting. He caught one man in a chokehold, held it until the body went limp, dropped it, and moved to the next.
The fight was turning. The attackers were starting to realise they'd underestimated who they were walking into. Some were already trying to retreat.
I vaulted over a fallen body with both batons spinning and caught two men trying to flank Viktor—first baton to a knee to drop one, second to the other's throat. Both went down.
Then I saw one of Harrow's men standing apart from the main fight, separated and steady, his weapon raised. Not at me.
At Dom.
Dom's back was to him, engaged with two others, completely unaware of the threat behind him.
Time slowed.
I watched the man's finger tighten on the trigger.
I didn't think. I just moved.
I launched myself across the space with the batons already falling from my hands and positioned my body between Dom and the barrel.
The weapon discharged.
The impact was strange—not pain at first, just force. Like someone had punched me in the chest hard enough to steal my breath, hard enough to lift me completely off my feet.
I hit the marble floor and slid.
Then the pain came. White-hot and enormous, spreading from my chest outward like fire finding fuel.
I looked down. Blood spreading across my shirt, below the ribs on the left side. So much blood.
My legs wouldn't respond. My arms felt distant and unreliable. The batons lay somewhere I couldn't reach.
“CAL!” Dom's voice came from somewhere that was both very far away and directly beside me. He dropped down next to me, his hands already pressing. “No, no, no—CAL?—”
The fight still raged around us. Troy had the shooter now and was breaking him with methodical patience, working through ribs, arms, legs. Viktor, Luka, and Ash had cleared their sections of the room. The remaining men were retreating, running, finally understanding what they'd walked into.
But I couldn't focus on any of it. All I could see was Dom's face, bloody and terrified.
“Stay with me,” he said, his hands pressing hard, coming away red and soaked. “Noah! NOAH!”
Noah appeared beside us, took one look, and his expression shifted into something professional and urgent. “Damn it. Adrian—we need a medic, now!”
Adrian was already on his phone, his voice clipped and furious.
“Cal. Look at me. Stay awake.” Noah was working fast, ripping fabric away and applying pressure with steady hands. “Talk to me. Stay present.”
I tried. I forced my eyes to focus on something fixed.
The fight was ending. Troy stood over a cluster of bodies, breathing hard and covered in blood and sweat. Viktor, Luka, and Ash had formed a perimeter, ensuring no one got close. Adrian was coordinating with emergency services on the other side of the room.
But I was fading, the darkness pulling at the edges despite Noah's hands and Dom's voice.
“Cal—” Dom's voice was breaking, and there were tears cutting through the blood on his face. “Stay awake. Please. Just hold on?—”
I wanted to tell him I was trying. That I didn't want to leave. That these past weeks had been everything I hadn't known I needed.
The words wouldn't come. There was only blood, and pain, and the darkness closing in from every edge at once.
“Dom...” I managed, barely a whisper.
