“Volkov!” The sharpness in the voice —Liza’svoice — cut through the fog. “Anya, we need you!”
I blinked hard, breath stuttering back into my lungs. My vision tunneled back in, snapping painfully into focus. The smell of blood hit me. The metallic tang. The copper. The antiseptic struggled and failed to cover it.
My eyes dropped.
His leg.
It didn’t even look like a leg anymore.
Crushed. Twisted at an angle no joint should ever take. Fabric soaked through, blood pooling faster than hands could contain it. Someone had a tourniquet on, but it was already slick, already failing. Bone. God. I could see bone.
My stomach lurched.
“Anya,” Liza said again, closer now. I couldfeelher hand on my elbow, grounding me. “He needs you.”
I swallowed hard. Once. Twice.
He was still breathing.
Shallow and uneven. But breathing nonetheless. That was all that mattered.
That was something I could hold on to.
“Airway’s intact,” I heard myself say, my voice sounding strange in my own ears. “But he’s losing too much blood. We need a massive transfusion protocol. Now.”
My words kicked the room back into sharper motion. Someone repeated the order. Someone else moved for blood. The rhythm returned, even though my hands were shaking as I stepped closer to the bed. “We need Levin.” I said to myself at first, then louder foranyoneto hear. My voice shattered as I shouted, “Someone get Doctor Levin!”
Up close, it was worse.
His face was ashen, jaw slack, lashes dark against skin that had gone frighteningly pale. There was blood on his temple. His chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven pulls. He looked smaller like this. Not physically — he was still Desmond — but stripped of that commanding presence that usually filled any room he entered.
Vulnerable.
Human.
Breakable.
“Pressure’s dropping,” someone called.
“Pulse’s thready.”
“Get another line.”
I leaned in, forcing my focus down into the work. My handsshouldhave known what to do, even if my heart didn’t. IV. Fluids. Blood. Pressure. Stop the bleeding. Keep him alive long enough for surgery to take over.
But I couldn’t move.
“Tourniquet’s not enough,” a tech said, voice tight. “We’re not controlling it.”
I nodded, jaw clenched so hard it hurt. I could barely see through the tears.
“We won’t.” Aaron’s voice cut through the screams of the machines. “Not like this. He needs the OR. Now. Trauma surgery, stat. Talk to me, Volkov.”
“Bus—” The word tasted like ash. I didn’t look at his face again. I couldn’t. If I did, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to keep my hands steady. “His leg…”
Then his eyes fluttered. Just barely.
And for one terrifying, unbearable second, they focused.
