Fear hits so hard it almost knocks the air out of me.
“Olivia.”
No response.
The medic’s voice cuts sharply through the panic clawing up my throat.
“We’ve got her. Keep moving.”
They rush her deeper into the hospital beneath bright lights and swinging doors.
I follow without hesitation.
Because there is no version of this world where I let her go through this alone.
And while they wheel her toward surgery, one thing settles cold and absolute inside me.
This is not over.
Not until every child is safe.
Not until Hannah Bowers and Stephen Cole come home.
And definitely not until the people responsible learn exactly what happens when they touch someone we love.
30
Russ
The hospital doors burst open before the vehicle fully stops.
Bright white light slams into us.
Voices overlap instantly.
“Move!”
“Trauma bay ready!”
“Pressure’s dropping!”
The stretcher jerks beneath Olivia as the medics rush her inside, wheels rattling hard across tile floors.
I stay beside her.
Close enough to touch.
Always close enough.
Blood keeps soaking through the dressings pressed against her side.
Too much.
Way too much.
“Stay with me,” I say again.
I don’t even know if she can hear me anymore.
