Casey curls on the floor, breathing in short wet gasps, his hands over his face. Alive. Not by much.
Jude comes back to me. Drops to his knees and pulls me against his chest, and his hands are wet and warm where they press against my back—Casey's blood, soaking through my shirt, against my skin. I don't flinch from it.
"I've got you," he says against my hair. "I've got you, I've got you, I've got you."
He says it over and over, and I don't think he's saying it to me.
Footsteps now, close, and Gage is already moving. He checks Casey—still breathing, still conscious—then steps between us and the security door, squaring himself toward the sound.
The corridor fills with guards, with medical staff, with the chaos of a facility responding to a containment breach.
"Patient from Ward A attempted to abduct the court monitor," Gage says, his voice level, professional. "I responded from the stairwell and restrained the patient. Chadwick broke containment during the incident. Both patients need medical attention and so does the court monitor."
He doesn't mention stepping aside. Doesn't mention the window he gave Jude or the countdown he ran in his head. The guards look at Casey's face and then at Jude's hands and fill in their own version, but Gage's report is the one that'll go on paper.
Someone is trying to pull Jude away from me. He lets them. His bloody hands slide off my arms as two guards grip his wrists and snap restraints around them. He doesn't resist.
Hands on my arms. Gage's face swimming into view, his palm pressing against my cheek.
"You good?" His voice is hoarse. "Hope, you good?"
"I'm okay."
"Don't lie to me. Not right now."
"I'm not lying." I reach up, touch his hand where it rests against my face. "You got here. You stopped him."
His eyes close. Just for a second. When they open again, the professional distance is gone. He's not trying to hide what's underneath it anymore.
"I heard you scream," he says quietly. "On the camera feed. I saw him—" His jaw goes tight. "I just ran."
"Thank you."
The words aren't enough. Nothing would be enough. But he nods once.
"How did he get through that door?"
Gage's mouth goes tight. "The frame's been flagged for years. Corroded bolts, a hinge repair that never held. He's known that door for months." He pauses. "And whatever they dose him with doesn't touch a combat response. The military trained that into him. The chemicals can't remove it. The man is a machine."
Jude is watching me from between the two guards holding his arms. His face is calm.
"Hope." His voice cuts through the noise. "You're safe. You're safe, and I'll find a way back. I always find a way back."
They drag him toward the security door—the one he broke through, the frame still twisted and wrong. He doesn't fight. Doesn't struggle. Just keeps his eyes on me until the last possible second, until he disappears from view.
They both came for me.
Someone is shining a light in my eyes. Asking me questions. I answer them on autopilot—yes I can track the movement, no Ididn't lose consciousness, yes I know what day it is. The clinical process washes over me while I stare at the space where Jude used to be.
And underneath all of it, the thing I can't explain to anyone…
Watching him beat Casey bloody and then hold me with those same hands—I didn't feel afraid. My body didn't send the alarm. It read him as safe.
The medical team loads me onto a gurney I don't need. Someone is talking about concussion protocols, observation periods, paperwork. I let them move me, compliant and quiet, while my brain runs the same loop:
They both came for me.
The corridor recedes as they wheel me toward the infirmary. The fluorescent lights blur overhead. Somewhere in the building, Jude is being processed for a containment breach and what he did to Casey's face, and whatever comes next for him will be worse than anything they've done before.
