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My brother’s life is slipping away under my hands, and there’s nothing I can do but watch and pray and keep pressingdown, down, downon the wound slowly killing him.

A sharp knock at the door makes me jerk. “Let him in!” I roar, not taking my eyes off Seb’s face.

Eli yanks the door open and Dr. Martinez strides in, medical bag in hand, and a nurse behind him carrying even more supplies. His weathered face is grim as he takes in the scene. “What happened?”

“Bullet to the chest,” I growl. “He’s lost a lot of blood.”

The doctor kneels beside me, his movements quick and efficient as he opens his bag. “How long ago?”

“Fifteen minutes.” My voice cracks. “Maybe twenty.”

Dr. Martinez’s hands replace mine on Seb’s chest, probing the wound with practiced fingers. “Entry wound looks clean. No exit.” His eyes flick to mine. “We need to get the bullet out and stop this bleeding. Now.”

Eve shifts closer, her shoulder brushing mine. “What do you need?”

“Hot water, clean towels.” The doctor’s voice is clipped as he pulls supplies from his bag. “And I need space to work. Everyone back off.”

My men retreat without argument, but Eve hesitates. Her hand squeezes my shoulder, a silent gesture of support before she does the same.

“Hold him down,” Dr. Martinez orders, readying a syringe. “This is going to hurt, and I can’t have him thrashing.”

I grip Seb’s shoulders, my knuckles white with tension. The doctor works swiftly, his movements precise as he injects something near the wound. My brother doesn’t even flinch.

“The bullet’s lodged near his collarbone,” Dr. Martinez mutters, reaching for his instruments. “If we’re lucky, it missed anything vital. But he’s lost too much blood. He’ll need a transfusion.”

My jaw clenches. “Take mine. Whatever he needs.”

The doctor looks at me, his eyes flickering over my own wounds. “Looks like you need your blood. Don’t worry, the nurse has everything I need.”

I pace the length of the couch, watching every movement of Dr. Martinez’s hands as he works to save my brother’s life. Each second feels like an eternity as I wait, helpless, while Seb’s life hangs in the balance.

Eve returns with towels and hot water, setting them beside the doctor without a word. Her presence is both a comfort and a torment. I want to reach for her, to draw strength from her, but I can’t let myself be weak right now. Can’t let anyone see how close I am to breaking.

“Blood pressure’s dropping,” the nurse announces, her voice tight with concern.

“Start the transfusion,” Dr. Martinez orders, not looking up from his work. “Now.”

I watch as they insert the IV, the crimson liquid flowing into my brother’s veins. This is my fault. I led us into that ambush. I should have known it was a trap.

“The bullet’s lodged deep,” Dr. Martinez mutters, probing the wound. “But I think … got it.”

A small metallic ping as he drops the bullet into a dish. The sound echoes in my head, a reminder of how close I came to losing everything. How I still might.

Eve’s hand brushes my arm, and I realize I’ve stopped breathing. “He’s strong,” she whispers, her voice steady despite the worry in her eyes. “He’ll pull through.”

I want to believe her. Need to believe her. But all I can see is the blood—so much blood—staining my hands, my clothes, the expensive leather of my couch. The evidence of my failure to protect him surrounds me, suffocating me with guilt and fear.

“We need to move him somewhere more stable.” Dr. Martinez orders. “A downstairs bedroom?”

Eve jumps into action. “There’s one right there.” She points to one of the spare bedrooms not fifty feet from where I stand.

The stench of blood and antiseptic fills my nostrils as I help carry Seb to the spare bedroom. His body feels lighter now, drained of blood and life, but the even rise and fall of his chest gives me hope. The doctor managed to extract the bullet and stop the bleeding, though Seb’s not out of danger yet.

Eve hovers nearby as we settle him onto the bed, her hands quick and sure as she adjusts pillows and tucks blankets around him. The nurse hooks up an IV while Dr. Martinez gives final instructions about monitoring Seb’s vitals through the night.

“Zeke.” Eve’s voice cuts through my exhausted haze. “Your arm is still bleeding.”

I glance down at the knife wound, barely registering the pain or the blood seeping through my torn sleeve. “It’s fine.”