Page 90 of Victorious: Part 3

We told him he’s part of our club, our family.

So it makes sense to check on him.

“Copy that. We’ll head there now.”

The line goes dead, and I look at Nighthawk, who’s already reading my expression.

“Hospital?” she asks, her brows furrowed.

“Lock. Making sure he’s okay after tonight.” I turn to the other birds. “Change of plans. We’re splitting. You guys take Javierand the rescued kids back to the clubhouse. Nighthawk and I are making a detour.”

The other birds grin in acknowledgment as we load up in our respective vans. I key the comms once more. “L6, the birds are loaded up and are headed your way with the package. Nighthawk and I are en route to the hospital. The birds will wait with the package and will deploy when I arrive, over.” I watch the others drive off with our precious cargo as static comes down the line.

“I hear you. Package is on its way. I’ll make sure the boys are ready. We’ll see you soon, over.”

I smile, hearing the sweet voice down the comms, then I turn the engine on and head for the hospital. The last time I was there, I watched my best friend die. I saw my fiancée lose the first love of his life. And I watched Poppy lose her mother. I didn’t want to come back here, but if it means I get to make sure that Lock is okay, for the sake of Livvy, I will do that in a heartbeat.

Because she loved him.

Which means he’s part of our family.

And we protect family.

Walking inside, the hospital buzzes with its usual late-night activity, a controlled chaos of beeping monitors, hurried footsteps, and hushed conversations. We make our way through the familiar corridors toward the ER, where Lock should be finishing up his shift.

“There,” I say, spotting him at the nurses’ station, looking exhausted as he reviews charts.

But he’s not alone.

A petite nurse with long black hair and bangs leans against the counter beside him, clearly trying to engage him in conversation. Her body language is flirtatious, touching his arm, laughing at something he said, and standing closer than necessary.

Lock, for his part, looks uncomfortable. He keeps stepping back, creating distance, his responses polite but clearly uninterested.

“Miranda,” I murmur, recognizing her immediately.

She was Livvy’s nurse during those final hours. Always so caring, so attentive. She held Livvy’s hand when I couldn’t be there.

She worked with her.

She was her friend.

Nighthawk’s hand slams into my chest, stopping me dead. “Black Swan,” she whispers, her voice filled with shock and something darker.

My blood turns to ice as I spin my head around to meet her gaze, my eyes wide, instantly realizing what she is saying. “What?”

“That’s Black Swan. One of mine. I trained her.”

The world tilts on its axis, falling as I stumble slightly. Nighthawk grips my arm to keep me steady.

Miranda! Sweet, caring Miranda, who comforted me after Livvy died, who seemed to genuinely care, is afucking bird?

How the hell did I not pick up on that?

We watch as she continues her attempts to flirt with Lock, who’s clearly having none of it. His jaw is tight, his movements sharp with barely contained grief and irritation.

“She’s been watching him,” I realize, my voice hollow. “All this time, she’s been watching Lock. And before that…” I drift off, realizing her target.

“She was watching Livvy,” Nighthawk finishes grimly.