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My throat is closing. My heart is going ballistic. The monitor is screaming beside me, a fast, panicked chorus that echoes the stampede in my head.

“Tara? Tara, what’s wrong? Look at me.” He cups my cheek. “Talk to me—what hurts?”

I shake my head, but it feels like I’m shaking the whole room. Tears spill before I can stop them.

He’s going to know. Or already does. But what? What is he going to know? Why can’t I remember? What's happening to me? Why can’t I breathe? My chest… is my chest collapsing. What’s on my chest?

I can’t breathe. Fear grips me, squeezing at my heart as stabbing pain jabs at my heart, and I feel my soul starting to rip apart. My head turns, and my eyes meet the wide ones of Ruslan, who is staring at me. I see his mouth move, but the roaring in my ear and my gasping for breath drown him out.

“I…” I managed to croak. “Tell… can’t.” I can feel more tears slip down my cheeks.

I hear a rush of footsteps. A nurse appears above, followed by another one.

“She’s spiking—tachycardia and respiratory distress! Get the sedative!” A doctor’s face comes into view. “It’s okay, Mrs.Dragunov.” His deep voice is soft. “We’re going to give you a sedative to calm you down.”

“Remember…” I breathe. “Why… brain… not working.” I pant.

“No—wait—” Ruslan starts to protest, but the nurse cuts him off.

“She’s in full panic. If we don’t calm her down, her heart’s going to give out again. Step back!”

A cold burn pushes through the IV line in my arm.

“Ptichka,” Ruslan says again, his voice cracking open like it did in Vegas. “Tara—please—stay with me.”

But the light is fading. I can’t hold on. The sound of his voice—the way it breaks—is the last thing I hear, and the panic and fear in his eyes is the last thing I see before the world goes black.

RUSLAN

I don’t move. I can’t. Not even when the nurse gently presses my shoulder, murmuring that she’s stable now. I don’t care. I’m not leaving her.

Tara’s face is pale against the pillow. There’s a slight tremor still in her fingers, even in sleep. The sedatives kicked in, but whatever tore through her wasn’t just fear—it was something else.

Something deeper.

Her lips had been moving, but the words barely came out. She’d tried to tell me something. I could feel it in the way she looked at me. Confusion. Desperation.

A baby. She’d been muttering about a baby. About her brain not working.

I brush my thumb over her knuckles, more for me than her. She’s asleep again, breathing steadily, but my own chest still feels like it’s clamped in a vise.

The door clicks. I don’t look up at first, assuming it’s another nurse—until I catch the scent of expensive cologne and dry-cleaned fabric.

“Christ, Ruslan.”

I glance over. Konstantin is standing in the doorway with a suit bag over one shoulder, a paper cup in one hand, and a paper bag in the other. His eyes sweep over me, and his lip twitches. “You look like you murdered someone and rolled in the body.”

I don’t answer.

He walks in, setting the coffee and bag on the small table by the window. “Go shower,” he says, nodding toward the ensuite. “I brought you clean clothes, toiletries… even socks.” He tilts his head. “Pretty sure Tara will appreciate you not smelling like stress, blood, and day-old sweat when she wakes up again.”

“She already did,” I say quietly.

He stops moving. “She woke up?”

I nod. “Just for a minute.”

I shift in my seat. My back’s screaming, but I won’t let go of Tara’s hand. Not yet. I feel like my connection to her is what’skeeping her from slipping away for good. Into a place I will never find her again—no one will.