But this was Teague.
Carefulwasn’t in his vocabulary when people needed saving.
“I know,” he said quietly.Like he could hear all the words she wasn’t saying, all the fear she refused to name.“Get me those coordinates, Eden.Even if we don’t know for sure they’re alive, I’m not willing to give up hope.Not yet.”
The radio clicked off.
Eden stared at the maps.Her hands already reached for her phone to call in backup, every resource she could mobilize—SAR teams, equipment, medics.
But her mind was on Teague climbing alone toward unstable mine shafts, ready to rappel into darkness on nothing but hope and rope.
She pressed her palm against her chest and felt the rapid beat, felt her heart hammer beneath her ribs.
This was why she didn’t date adrenaline junkies anymore.
This feeling.
This sick, helpless terror that the person you cared about was going to get themselves killed and there was nothing you could do to stop them.
Except she didn’t care about Teague.
Not like that.
She couldn’t afford to.
She wouldn’t let herself.
Eden grabbed her phone and started making calls, her voice steady and professional.She pushed the feelings down where they belonged.
Buried deep where they couldn’t hurt her.
Examined never.
She got to work and tried not to think about all the ways this could end badly, all the ways she could lose him.
Meg’s fingers pressed gently against Alex’s throat and found his pulse again.
Still steady.Still strong.
But her mind was already racing ahead to the impossible logistics of what Noah was proposing.
Moving a patient with a potential traumatic brain injury through unstable cave passages was every worst-case scenario from her emergency medicine training rolled into one.
“Noah.”Her voice came out steadier than she felt.“If Alex has an intracranial bleed, any jarring movement could make it worse.We could kill him trying to save him.”
“And if we stay here, the water kills all three of us.”Noah was already pulling rope from his bag, his hands moving with purpose.“Help me.We need to move fast.”
He pulled off his uniform shirt with quick movements and left just his undershirt, gray and damp with sweat.He began threading rope through the sleeves of the shirt he’d removed.
Her medical training screamed at her.Stabilize the patient.Protect the C spine.Minimize movement.
But her survival instinct whispered something else.Better a chance than none at all.
She looked down at Alex’s pale face, skin waxy in the lamplight.At the gauze already darkening with blood from his temple.
He was maybe seventeen.Eighteen at most.Still had acne on his jaw.
Someone’s son.
