His breathing stutters.
Unsteady.
Not good.
Not good at all.
My chest tightens—but I shove it down hard.
No room.
Not here.
“You don’t get to do this,” I tell him, low and fierce. “You don’t get to drag us out of there and then check out the second it’s over. That’s not how this works.”
His brow furrows faintly.
Like he hears me.
Good.
“BP—”
“I know!” I snap again. “Push more fluids. Now.”
They scramble.
Faster this time.
Good.
Because if they don’t—
I will run them over myself.
I shift slightly, pain slicing through my side where the bruising is worst.
I ignore it.
It doesn’t matter.
None of it matters.
Not the pain.
Not the exhaustion.
Not the fact that I shouldn’t even be on my feet right now.
All that matters—
Is him.
My gaze flicks over his injuries again.
The bruising is worse than I thought.
Deeper.
