Page 44

Kabir

Beep.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

The sound drilled into my skull. Repetitive. Shrill. Too clean.

Monitors.

My head pounded. My lungs felt like they were wrapped in barbed wire.

“Sahil Chawla. Age thirty five. Fractures on the third, seventh, and eighth ribs—left side. Brought in with pulmonary contusion. Mild pneumothorax…”

Fuck.

That’s me.

No wonder it felt like I was breathing through broken glass.

I groaned.

Somewhere to my left, a voice cut in—closer now. “Patient’s waking up.”

I tried to move—mistake. Agony surged through my ribs like a live wire.

The antiseptic sting in the air. The harsh white light slicing through my eyelids.

Definitely a hospital.

How the hell am I alive?

Last thing I remembered was Ling.

The guards leaving.

The masked man.

Ling’s screams.

The sickening crunch of his skull.

The image hit me like a jolt—Gao Ling on the floor, his face caved in like a shattered melon. Blood pooling. Bone fragments visible.

He was gone.

No gloating. No final words. Just raw, violent erasure.

I exhaled, chest rattling with the effort.

The beeping hadn’t stopped.

My eyelids felt like sandpaper, but I forced them open. Stark white ceiling. Glare from overhead fluorescents. Linens stiff against my skin. Definitely a hospital.

A nurse in pale blue scrubs moved into view, typing something on a mounted tablet. A few white coats leaving my room. They were probably here for rounds.

“Where… where am I?” I rasped, voice like gravel.

She didn’t answer.

Instead, she glanced down at her screen. “Do you have a next of kin we should contact?”

I blinked at her. “No. Just tell me where I am. And what day it is.”

She hesitated.

Then said, “July eighth.”

Three days.

Fuck.

I’d been unconscious for three fucking days.

My heart kicked up—panic crawling up my throat like fire.

“Don’t,” she warned, stepping forward as I tried to sit up. “You need to stay in bed—”

“I need to leave,” I bit out, already wincing as I forced myself upright. Every movement burned, but I didn’t care.

I promised her.

She must think I’m gone.

I needed to get to Amelia.

“Sir, please—just wait. You’ve been through significant trauma—”

“Who admitted me?” I interrupted, chest heaving.

“I don’t know,” she said. “But I can ask. If you stop trying to rip your IV out like an idiot.”

I stared at her. “Which hospital is this?”

“NewYork-Presbyterian,” she replied.

I exhaled hard.

Brooklyn .

Thank God.

Close enough.

Close to her.

“Get me discharge papers,” I muttered, already swinging one leg off the bed.

She looked at me like I’d just announced I was planning to jump off the roof. “What?”

“I’m leaving.”

“You’re not .”

She left the room in a rush—probably for backup.

Good.

I needed a second wind.

Moments later, she returned with a broader male nurse in navy scrubs who looked like he bench-pressed recovering patients for fun.

“You need to settle down, sir,” he said calmly but firmly.

I met his gaze. “Do I have internal bleeding?”

He blinked. “No.”

“Cranial trauma? Stroke? Brain swelling? Seizure risk?”

“No.”

“Can I sign myself out against medical advice?”

He looked between me and the other nurse, clearly weighing the risks. Then said, “Yes… but—”

“I’m leaving.”

“Sir—”

“I need to leave ,” I said, sharper now. “Get my damn clothes and the AMA form.”

They were silent.

“I’m walking out of this room with or without paperwork,” I said, already gritting my teeth as I slid both legs over the edge.

Pain knifed through my ribs.

Didn’t matter.

I’d crawl through broken glass if it meant getting to her.

The male nurse stepped back. Not in fear—just understanding.

“Fine,” he said. “I’ll start the discharge.”

The female nurse sighed and stormed out.

I leaned forward, gripping the side of the bed, breathing through the ache.

Three days.

She probably thinks I’m dead.

I promised her I’d come back.

And I would.

Even if it killed me.

???

The last time I was here, I was sneaking in.

I was a rogue asset.

A traitor.

I could only hope that had changed in the past week. That someone— anyone —inside would let me through without drawing a gun. Or at the very least, let me collapse onto a bed instead of faceplanting on the goddamn sidewalk.

My ribs were screaming. Just catching a cab had been its own personal hell. I’d had to pay in crumpled bills—whatever I’d stashed before the Romano mission.

Digital payments were a luxury I couldn’t afford.

I had no phone.

No DaLia.

No Sentrix.

Shit.

I could only pray they weren’t sitting at the bottom of New York Harbor.

The automatic gate to Blackthorn Security hissed open. The metallic monstrosity barely made a sound.

I limped through, hand clutched tight to my side, breathing through the pain.

They’d know it was me by now. No element of surprise left.

One foot in front of the other, I reached the Mobilization Bay.

The elevator chimed and opened.

Everyone spilled out.

Zarek.

Logan.

Leora.

Kaylan.

Sebastian.

Delara.

I slowed, breath catching.

There was only one person I wanted to see.

But she wasn’t there.

Where is she?

Then Zane appeared. And right beside him—my Lia.

Her hand was locked in his, her frame stiff. Dazed. Like she wasn’t really there at all.

And the truth hit me like a punch straight to the ribs.

She thought I was dead.

Of course she did.

It had been nearly ten days.

No calls. No messages. Nothing.

Her eyes landed on me—wide, wild, disbelieving.

And in that moment, nothing else existed.

“ Heer… ” I croaked, my voice cracking like it didn’t belong to me anymore.

I barely registered the others.

She was trembling. Hands. Shoulders. Chin.

“Baby—”

Before I could take another step, she dropped.

Fell straight to her knees.

Zane reached for her, but she shoved him off with such force, he staggered back.

Her sob—raw, broken—split the air.

I was shaking too. From the pain. From the relief. From the fact that I was standing here at all.

I was here.

I had kept my promise.

One step closer.

She let out another sound—something between a gasp and a cry—and then she was running.

Half crawling, half stumbling.

Straight into me.

I caught her.

Her arms locked tight around me, her legs wrapped around my waist.

My ribs protested viciously, but I didn’t care.

My face buried in her neck, inhaling everything I thought I’d never smell again—her skin, her hair, her fucking existence.

She was howling now.

“I’m fine,” I lied, voice a strained grunt. “I’m okay.”

I wasn’t. But none of that mattered.

I started to sink, knees giving out. The weight of her, of everything, pulling me down. I knelt, holding her close as my body finally gave out a cough.

Startled, she pulled back. Her hands roamed over me, frantic, checking for wounds, for blood, for proof that I wasn’t some ghost.

Her eyes were soaked, face flushed with pain.

“Seb!” she screamed. “Get the medical team!”

But she never looked away from me.

Not for a second.

I reached up, brushing a trembling thumb against her cheek.

My Lia.

She was here.

I was here.

A smile cracked through my busted lips.

“I’m okay, Heer ,” I whispered, even as my body swayed.

And finally— finally —she smiled too.

Through the tears. Through the ache.

Our lips met with urgency—raw, desperate. I couldn’t stop it.

Didn’t want to.

I had to have her. Right there. Audience be damned.

Her mouth moved against mine, her tongue tangled with mine, tasting of not just longing—but fear. Relief. Survival.

When we finally parted, I was breathless.

And disoriented. Like I couldn’t believe I was really here. I blinked back the sting behind my eyes… then looked up—past Amelia’s shoulder.

Everyone was there.

Standing in the hallway just behind her.

Their faces were a mess of emotions—relief, disbelief… and something else.

Remorse?

I frowned.

Zane’s lips were pressed tight, his eyes glassy but cautious. Kaylan’s hand covered her mouth. Delara had a grin—wobbly, but real.

Leora rolled her eyes when she saw me squinting at them all. “You couldn’t just text like a normal person?”

That earned a faint laugh around the bay.

But I could see her glistening eyes.

Logan stepped forward first, sniffing, his usual boulder-like presence a little softer.

I managed a tired smile, standing up—nodding at him.

Amelia shifted slightly to make space, but before Logan could get to me—Zarek spawned like a damn… ghost .

His hand clamped down on my shoulder, and I startled.

“Za—”

But he cut me off with a hug.

It was rough. Tight. Desperate.

I contained my pained groan and blinked over his shoulder, confused as hell. Logan stopped mid-step, smiling now, clearly letting the moment be his.

Zarek pulled back slightly, both hands still gripping my head.

And that’s when I saw it.

His eyes were bloodshot.

There were tears there.

Tears.

Zarek doesn’t cry.

“I’m fine, Ghost,” I said, attempting reassurance through the cracked edges of my voice.

Zarek flinched.

Just a flicker.

I didn’t understand why.

The next few minutes blurred with movement and warmth. Everyone took their turn. Kaylan wrapped me in a crushing hug and muttered something about putting a damn leash on me. Logan finally got his moment—just pulled me close and thumped my back gently.

“Missed you, Kabira,” he whispered, earning him an eye roll.

Leora kissed the top of my head and whispered, “Don’t disappear again. You’ve gotta compete for the favorite uncle position.”

My eyes widened as she nodded. I let out a disbelieving laugh.

She was pregnant?

“Congratulations,” I whispered, my grin wide.

Delara gave me a nod, then pulled me into a hug.

Seb tapped my arm and nodded before giving me a quick hug. “Welcome back, brother.”

Zane came last.

He didn’t hug me at first.

He just stared me down, rested a hand on my shoulder, and said, “You’re a pain in my ass.”

I grinned. “Missed you too.”

He shook his head and held me in a tight embrace.

“Don’t ever ask me to leave you bleeding again. I don’t think Amelia would let me live twice ,” he mumbled.

I was laughing when the medical team finally arrived, voices quick and firm as they checked me over and eased me into a wheelchair.

My head lolled slightly as the pain caught up to me, but the chaos in my chest was finally beginning to settle.

Lia hovered beside me, fingers brushing mine like she couldn’t stop checking that I was still here.

And I was.

Still beating.

Still—wait…

“Where’s Dylan?”

The room shifted.

Everything stilled.

The smiles faded.

Logan’s head dropped.

Amelia went pale.

Zarek squeezed his eyes shut and stepped away like the question had physically hit him.

My stomach sank.

The dread rushed back in, fast and cold.

“Where is he, Lia?” I asked, quieter this time.

She looked at me like she couldn’t find the words.

So Seb answered.

His voice was low, heavy.

“We don’t know.”