Page 74

When I get back.

How? How are we supposed to go anywhere now?

He came back shattered. Barely breathing. And those words... they echo in my skull, ghostly and cruel.

“Any news yet?” a deep voice asks beside me.

Sam limps toward the steps, one arm slung around Erica’s waist. His face is pale, streaked with grime and blood. He looks like death. But he’s still standing. Still moving. It’s not fair. It’s just not fair.

“No,” I whisper, my throat raw. “What happened?”

He lets out a breath that sounds like it hurts.

“Too much,” he says grimly. “It was the worst fight we’ve seen.”

“I can tell.” I stare at the wood beneath my feet, blinking fast. Then I speak again, barely above a whisper. “I think your brother’s dying.”

Sam crouches beside me, placing a steadying hand on my shoulder.

“I know,” he says quietly. “I saw him go down.” His grip tightens. “But he’s a fighter, Stacy. You know that. He’s not going anywhere.”

“Don’t,” I say.

He hesitates. “Don’t what?”

“Don’t lie to me. Don’t pretend you believe he’ll be okay.”

“I do believe it,” he says—but his voice falters.

“I’m not a doctor,” I whisper, swallowing against the tight knot in my throat. “But I saw what they did to him. I saw the blood. The bites.”

Before he can respond, Erica kneels beside me and wraps her arms around my shoulders. I collapse into her without hesitation, the weight of it all tearing loose from my chest. My sobs come fast, violent, and uncontrollable.

Her hands stroke my back, gentle and slow.

“I’ve got you,” she whispers. “Let it out, Red. I’ve got you.”

And I do. I let it all out. The fear. The helplessness. The unbearable guilt. It pours from me like a dam breaking until I’m shaking in her arms, gasping through the tears as my heart splits open.

Then—Click.

The cabin door opens.

I jerk upright, head spinning. Monica steps onto the porch, her hands covered in blood, her expression unreadable. Our eyes meet.

“He’s stable,” she says at last. “I stopped the bleeding. That’s all I can do here. I’ve called an ambulance. They’re on their way.”

“Thank you,” I whisper, though the words feel hollow compared to what I mean.

She nods once and slips back inside without another word.

I sit there in silence, cradled between Erica’s arms and Sam’s steady presence.

It should feel like relief. But Monica didn’t say how deep the wounds go. Or how close it was. Or how far we still are from safe. She didn’t say whether Ray would ever walk again. If he’ll wake up. If he’ll remember me.

She didn’t have to.

We’ve known each other too long.