“He might wake up now, but I doubt he’ll be able to walk. He needs proper treatment.” She couldn’t stop her hand from brushing through his hair again.
“All right, let’s try.” Nick reached out and shook Zach’s shoulder. “Zach! Wake up!”
Zach’s eyelids fluttered a little, but didn’t open.
“Zach! Emma needs you!”
Zach’s eyes snapped open, immediately scanning the area. Nick smirked and sat back on his heels. “Welcome back, Zach. On your feet, soldier.” Zach's eyes were unfocused, and his head lolled forward. He didn't respond, but seemed to understand Nick’s orders, as he cooperated when they attempted to get him to his feet. With their help, he stood, swaying, Emma still clutching his hand.
“Emma, you need to let go now.” David had Zach’s arm over his shoulder, propping him up. Nick waited by her side,intending to do the same. It would take two of them to handle Zach’s muscle mass.
Her fingers tightened on Zach. She couldn’t make herself let go.
Nick recognized her problem. He faced her and set her hands on her shoulders. “Emma, look at me.”
Emma forced her eyes away from Zach toward Nick and realized that tears were trailing down her cheeks.
“He’s safe now. You protected him. It’s our turn now. Let us take him home. Take the kit, and the backpack. Lead the way down the trail, and make sure it's clear for Zach, okay?”
Emma considered that, though the fog in her mind made thinking difficult. Zach needed care. She needed to clear the path. She nodded and stepped back, releasing Zach’s hand to pick up the backpack.
Nick moved into Zach’s side, draping Zach’s arm over his own shoulder. “Come on, Soldier, walk.” Zach stumbled forward, hanging between the two men.
They shuffled down the path in the trees to the golf cart. Zach slumped into the back seat, unconscious again, and Nick strapped him in. Emma dropped into the passenger seat and leaned back, her focus narrowed on the sound of Zach's breathing behind her.
It hitched—too uneven. Too shallow.
Chapter 42
Status Report
Consciousness crept in,like surfacing from deep water.
Not the sharp snap of alertness Zach was accustomed to—the combat-ready awareness that had defined most of his adult life. This was softer. Gentler. This kind of waking suggested his body had decided he was safe enough to rest.
Soft light filtered through windows he recognized without opening his eyes. The cottage. His room—no,herroom. He gave it to her when he’d made her relocate for her protection.
The storm had dwindled to distant rain, a steady whisper against glass rather than the violent assault he remembered. The world was quiet. Peaceful, even.
His body felt heavy. Not the crushing weight of toxins shutting down his systems, but the solid, grounded heaviness of genuine exhaustion. The sharp edge of pain that had sawed through his muscles was now dulled to a manageable ache. The poison that had been killing him cell by cell?—
Gone.
Not fully healed. His mind was still sluggish; his muscles were lethargic. His enhanced metabolism burned through the worst of it, but recovery would take time. Another day, maybetwo, before he was back to full capacity. But the critical threat had passed. He wasn’t dying anymore.
That was something.
Emma was in the room.
The knowledge settled into him with absolute certainty, bypassing logic. Some instinct deeper than training, more fundamental than tactical awareness. A knowing that lived in the hindbrain, in the spaces between heartbeats.
He inhaled her scent—subtle, warm—as familiar as his own: sandalwood and vanilla, earthy, the everyday lotion she always wore. It surrounded him, wrapped around him like a blanket.
She was close.
She hadn’t left.
Zach opened his eyes, letting his vision adjust to the gray morning light. The bedroom came into focus in pieces—the window overlooking the path to the beach, the simple furniture, the soft gray walls he’d painted himself.
