Page 114 of The Final Contract

“Go, go, go!” someone shouted.

I ran with them, pushing the gurney down the corridor, my chest burning like I’d dragged the fire inside with me. We burst into the elevator. Hands shoved me back, hard against my chest.

“You can’t come further,” one of them barked.

The doors started to close. I locked on Seraphina’s face until the last possible second—her pale skin beneath the mask, chest barely rising. Then I looked at Stasia. Just before the doors sealed, she met my gaze and gave one sharp nod.

I won’t let her die.

The world tilted. My knees buckled. Hands caught me, steering me into another elevator, into another room. Oxygen. IV. Cold water down my throat. They checked everything—lungs, ears, eyes, skin where the smoke had clawed its way in. Ice packs pressed to burns. Needles stitching torn flesh across my knuckles, over my brow. My fists twitched with every pull of the thread, because all I could see was Cormac’s face breaking under them.

Lucian didn’t leave. Sat still as stone in the chair across from me while we waited.

Damien and Jaxon took the Wolfe Industries helicopter back. Eve and Sienna came with clothes, made me wash up in the sink until the water ran black. They even packed a bag for Seraphina. For when she wakes up.

Because she will wake up. She has to.

And thank Christ—Finn’s okay.

They brought him in hours ago, carried on a stretcher with a blade sunk deep in his chest. Cormac had shit aim, missed the heart by inches, punctured a lung instead. He’s stable now, stitched up, Nora glued to his side. One less ghost to carry.

But still—it’s her. Always her.

I couldn’t eat. Couldn’t close my eyes. Couldn’t stop pacing outside the doors she’d gone through.

Minutes. Hours. I don’t know. Time didn’t exist anymore.

Eventually, my body forced me into a chair. My head fell into my hands, fingers dragging through the rough scrape of my beard. My chest ached so hard I thought my ribs might crack.

Then Lucian moved.

He knelt in front of me, his hand heavy on my shoulder, grounding me. “Hey.” His voice was quiet, steady. “I already told you. No one from our family dies today.”

My throat closed. My eyes burned, and no matter how I swallowed, I couldn’t force words out. Guilt clawed higher, drowning me. Broken fragments slipped through. “It’s… my fault. Should’ve?—”

Lucian’s grip tightened. His other arm came around me, pulling me down like a brother. “Don’t. Don’t fucking do that to yourself.” His voice sharpened—not with anger, but steel. “You didn’t do this.”

Tears burned, hot and relentless, streaking down my face. The smoke still clung to me, like I’d never left that fire. I shook my head, but Lucian pressed closer, his words driving in deep.

“If it weren’t for me?—”

“You got her out, Killian. You. She’s alive because you never stopped. Don’t let him take that from you.”

I choked on a sob, raw and jagged. My fists curled, stitches pulling, blood seeping through fresh bandages.

Lucian just held tighter.

Finally—fucking finally—the door cracked open.

Stasia stepped through.

Her chin wobbled. Her mouth tried for a smile, but her eyes flooded, her face crumpling. Tears broke fast and hard, shoulders shaking.

“She’s going to be okay,” she sobbed.

For a second, the world stopped. I had to process the words she just spoke.

Then they hit me like a tidal wave. I was on my feet, dragging her into me, crushing her against my chest.