Page 115 of Gabriel

“Jet?” I screamed. “Anya?”

My answer was silence, along with Gabriel’s harsh breaths and my thundering heart.

They were gone.Fuck!

They were gone, but my anger was very present. In fact, it grew by the second. I was infuriated at my brother for putting us in whatever danger this presented. I was beyond furious that due to his scheming, Gabriel lay in my arms bleeding. How could he leave? How could he not stay and help?

“When I get my hands on him, I’m going to murder him myself,” I muttered under my breath while I stared at the empty room for too long, trying to decide whether to scream or run or tear the house apart with my bare hands.

Gabriel groaned again, and I turned back to him, my priorities crystallizing. He was here. He needed me now.

“Don’t you dare pass out,” I told him. “I swear to God, Gabriel, stay awake. You better not die on me.”

His fingers twitched near mine.

“You can’t get rid of me that easily,” he tried to tease, but I couldn’t find humor in it. “Is Anya okay?” I hesitated just enough to cause him to panic. “Amara, is Anya okay?”

I swallowed. “They’re gone.”

He opened his mouth to answer when footsteps echoed through the rubble, coming fast from the back of the house.

I twisted around just as a tall figure emerged. Broad shoulders. Dark clothes. A familiar silhouette that made my chest seize.

“Kian,” I gasped.

He took in the scene—Gabriel bleeding; me covered in dust and blood, crouched over him, and the wreckage of the house collapsing around us—before he moved toward us.

“What the hell happened?” He glanced around. “Where is Anya?”

“Jet and Anya disappeared. Please help me,” I begged. “He’s losing blood and his eyes… He can’t see.”

Something dark passed over Kian’s face, but he didn’t waste time asking questions.

He dropped beside me, and the two of us got Gabriel to his feet, then made our way out of the debris.

And just like that, our own survival began.

Amara

The hospital in Vlorë felt like a mausoleum when we first tore through the ER doors—cold, sterile, far too quiet for what we were dragging in with us.

Then the chaos erupted.

Kian had driven like a madman through the city, headlights slicing through the dark, his hands white-knuckled on the wheel. The moment we crashed into the emergency bay, the silence shattered.

Voices rose and orders were barked.

The sound of shoes slapping across the linoleum floor signaled incoming doctors and nurses.

The fluorescent lights overhead were too bright—sharp and surgical—cutting through the fog of dust and blood. Gabriel winced, his face contorting with pain as he blinked rapidly, eyes flicking around the room but landing on nothing.

“My eyes are hurting,” he rasped, squinting hard. “I can’t—fuck—I can’t see.”

“Someone dim those fucking lights!” I shouted. “It’s hurting him!”

To my shock, someone actually did. The lights dimmed a fraction. Not much, but enough for Gabriel to stop flinching.

A doctor in navy scrubs materialized, sleeves already rolled up, gloves snapping on. “What do we have?”