I see her.
She’s stumbling in the opposite direction, disoriented. One arm is wrapped around her midsection like she’s trying to hold herself together. My chest caves in.
“Harper!” I yell, my voice cracking with raw desperation.
She turns around.
When our eyes meet, everything else disappears—the fire, the noise, the crowd. Her face is drained of color, and a bloodied streak runs along the side of her head, dark crimson against her pale skin. Her eyes widen, recognition flickering through the haze. Her mouth opens like she’s about to say something.
But she doesn’t get the chance.
Her eyes flutter closed, and her body slackens. I rush to her just in time to catch her as she collapses in my arms.
Her limp form is solid yet terrifyingly light all at once. My hands tremble as I pull her against my chest, breathing her in through the smoke, as though her faint amber perfume is the only proof she’s still here.
“No,” I whisper, over and over. “No, no, no, stay with me, Harper—please.”
I pace the length of the hospital waiting room, but my feet have seemingly sunk through the white tiles, trudging through them like mud.
The smell of antiseptic and burnt coffee stings my nose. Somewhere, a monitor beeps steadily, each repetition drilling straight into my skull. Fluorescent lights buzz overhead, too bright, too cold, making everything feel unreal—like I stepped into a place where time doesn’t work the way it’s supposed to.
All I can think about is Harper, hoping she’s okay. Hoping she’ll make it through this.
She regained consciousness a few seconds after collapsing in my arms. Her lashes fluttered, a soft, broken whimper escaping her throat as she sucked in air like she’d forgotten how to breathe. Her eyes were unfocused, wide with fear, and when her lips parted to speak, nothing came out. That’s when the EMT slapped an oxygen mask over her face and they hoisted her onto a gurney, lifting herinto the back of the ambulance. I followed, but I’m not even sure how. I have no recollection of even being in my car and driving here.
And now the doctors won’t even let me see her.
I rake a hand through my hair, my fingers coming away shaky. My shirt still smells faintly like smoke. Every time I blink, I see her falling again—dead weight in my arms, blood seeping through my fingers from the gash on her temple, her body going limp like a switch had been flipped.
If only I’d been there a minute earlier.
If only I hadn’t gone to the store.
If only—
“Baptiste.”
I snap my head up.
Adler, Beth, Miles, and Marissa are standing at the edge of the waiting room, eyes stretched wide with worry.
Beth’s hand flies to her mouth.
“Oh my gosh,” she breathes, stepping closer. “I can’t believe this happened.”
“I know,” Marissa wavers. “We were supposed to see her tomorrow.”
Adler shuffles closer, voice low, serious in a way that makes the situation feel even more dire. “Is she okay? Have you seen her?”
I shake my head, the motion stiff. “Not since they brought her here.”
Saying it out loud makes my chest tighten all over again.
“She hit her head, somehow, and lost consciousness after she escaped the building,” I continue, forcing the words past the lump in my throat. “So they need to clean the wound and run some tests. They haven’t told me anything yet.”
Miles nods slowly, jaw tight. “Concussion? How long was she unconscious for?”
“A few seconds.” I swallow hard. “I’m not sure exactly. Felt like an eternity, man. She looked bad.”
