Of course she fought.
“Vitals stabilized,” the doctor says as I step closer. “Internal bleeding has stopped. Blood pressure is holding steady. She’s responding very well.”
“Yeah,” I mutter, not taking my eyes off her. “No shit.”
She didn’t survive all that just to fold now.
“She’s a fighter.”
The words come out low, almost to myself, but they sit there heavy in my chest like something I’m not used to carrying.
“Everyone out,” I say, voice steady but final. “Give us space.”
No one argues. The room clears quickly, the door shutting behind them, leaving just the quiet hum of the machines and her unevenbreathing.
And me.
I pull the chair closer and sit, but for a second, I don’t reach for her. I just look at her.
Bruised.
Bandaged.
Too fucking still for someone like her.
Something in my chest tightens, low and sharp.
Then I reach for her hand.
Slow. Careful.
The second my fingers wrap around hers; she flinches.
Hard.
Like I burned her.
“Fuck…” I breathe under my breath, softer this time.
Not at her.
Never at her.
At them.
At what they did to her.
“Hey,” I say, my voice shifting, dropping lower without me trying. “Easy… you’re alright.”
Her eyes flutter open slowly, heavy, unfocused. Confusion is there immediately, clouding everything as she tries to take in the room—the machines, the IV, the unfamiliar space pressing in around her.
“What… what’s going on…?” Her voice is barely there, dry and strained. “Where am I…?”
I tighten my grip just enough to ground her, my thumb brushing slow over her knuckles.
“You’re out,” I tell her. “You’re safe now.I’ve got you.”
Her breathing hitches at that, panic creeping in whether she wants it to or not.
