Page 69 of Vital Signs

"What did he take? How long ago?" War asked, checking Hunter's pupils with a penlight.

"Fentanyl, I think. I found him like this." My voice cracked on 'found.' "He has a DNR tattoo, but I gave him Narcan anyway. He woke up briefly, then the withdrawal hit hard."

War's hands stilled for just a second—the DNR detail registering, the violation acknowledged—before resuming his assessment. "Narcan was the right call," he said, but his eyes said:We'll discuss this later.

He pulled vials and syringes from his bag, working with the speed and confidence of someone who'd done this many times. "Pax, we need to move him to the SUV. On three."

Paxton's massive frame blocked the light as he leaned in, easily lifting Hunter's body.

"My van," I protested weakly.

"Leave it," Nikita said. "We'll have someone pick it up. This is faster."

In the SUV, War continued working on Hunter, starting an IV and administering fluids and medication.

"Where are we going?" I asked, gripping Hunter's hand.

"The funeral home recovery room," War replied, not looking up from his task. "It's closer, and we need to keep him monitored when the Narcan wears off."

My shoulders dropped a fraction. The secure room above the main floor after the rebuild was perfect for this situation. Private, equipped with medical supplies, and away from curious eyes. No hospital meant no questions neither of us could answer, and War was taking Hunter seriously as a patient.

"Hold this," War instructed, passing me an IV bag. "Keep it elevated."

The drive to the funeral home passed in tense silence. I kept my eyes fixed on Hunter's face, memorizing every detail as if he might disappear if I looked away. The curve of his jaw. The way his lashes looked against his cheeks. The lips I'd kissed just hours ago, now blue-tinged but warming.

I'd almost lost this. Almost lost him. And when he woke—if he woke fully—he might look at me with hate instead of want.

But he'd be alive to hate me. That would have to be enough.

His eyes remained open but unfocused, occasionally finding my face before darting away again. Each time he recognized me, his expression shifted between confusion, relief, and betrayal.

When we arrived, Paxton carried Hunter through the side entrance. The recovery room was sparse but equipped with a hospital bed, medical supplies, security monitors.

War immediately attached monitors, adjusted the IV, and checked Hunter's vitals again.

"He's stabilizing," War said after a moment. "The Narcan saved his life, but we'll need to watch him carefully. Fentanyl can outlast Narcan, and when it wears off, he could slip back into respiratory depression."

"Will he..." My voice caught. "Will he be okay?"

War's eyes finally met mine, his expression hardening. "Physically? Probably. But this is exactly what I warnedyou about, Misha. Addicts relapse. It's what they do. First opportunity, first moment of stress, and they're right back to using."

My chest tightened, lungs struggling for air as his judgment hung between us. "You don't understand what happened."

"I understand perfectly." War's voice was distant, detached. "This isn't about you. It's about the drugs. That's the thing you need to accept. The drugs will always come first. His brain chemistry is completely fucked."

"What about the investigation?" I asked. "What's happening with Wright?"

War's expression darkened. "Wright's team contacted River. They're demanding the return of all 'stolen property'—the files you took. Threatening to sue the funeral home." He adjusted the IV with mechanical movements. "River's pulling back. The family's pulling back. You've exposed us all."

"But the files prove—"

"The files prove you broke into a medical facility. Wright's lawyers will argue everything's inadmissible. And they'll use your arrest and your friend's overdose to paint you both as unstable, obsessed criminals."

The words landed like hammer blows. My vision blurred at the edges. Wright was winning, Tyler was slipping away, and I couldn't even think about it because Hunter was dying right here, right now.

"What can I do?"

"Stay with him if you insist. Talk to him." War's hands moved efficiently over the equipment. "The Narcan will wear off in thirty to ninety minutes, and the fentanyl might outlast it. We'll need to keep monitoring and possibly give more doses."