Page 77 of Vital Signs

War nodded. "I'll check his electrolytes when he wakes up. He's lost a lot through sweating and vomiting. Might need potassium supplements."

The tone threw me. No judgment. No told-you-so's . Just medical assessment and next steps, as if Hunter were any other patient deserving of care.

Shepherd set his mug down harder than necessary. "And when he wakes up? When he starts using again?"

"Shepherd—" War warned.

"No." Shepherd's eyes stayed on me. "We're helping because you're family. But that doesn't mean we agree with your choices. That doesn't mean we think this ends well."

"I know," I said quietly.

"Do you?" Shepherd crossed his arms. "Because from where I'm standing, you're destroying yourself for someone who's going to break your heart the first time he gets a chance to use."

"Maybe," I admitted. "But that's my choice to make."

Something shifted in Shepherd's expression. Not approval. But perhaps... respect. The kind born from watching someone walk into fire with their eyes open.

"You know what you're signing up for," he said, and it wasn't a question.

"I do."

Shepherd studied me for a long moment, then nodded once. "Fine. Your choice. Your consequences." He pushed away from the counter. "But you're still family, which means when this goes to shit, we'll be here to pick up the pieces."

"I'm grateful," I said, and meant it.

"Don't be grateful yet." Shepherd moved toward the door, pausing in the threshold. "Just don't expect us to pretend this is a good idea."

After he left, War rounded the counter and handed me a blue sports drink, cap already twisted off. "Nikita called us when he pulled you out of lockup. Said you were insisting on going back to some van where you'd left an addict in withdrawal." His voice remained neutral, but something in his eyes had softened. "Said you were ready to walk if he wouldn't drive you there."

"How did Nikita even know I was there?" I asked, the drink forgotten in my hand. "I didn't call anyone. They took my phone."

War's mouth tightened at the corners. "You're lucky Nikita has half the force on his payroll. Someone recognized your name and called him directly."

"Why are you all helping now? After our fight?"

"Because you're still family." War's eyes held mine. "Making choices we don't agree with doesn't negate that. We can think you're being reckless and still care what happens to you."

"Even when those choices might destroy the funeral home?" I asked, voice hollow.

Shepherd's jaw tightened. "Wright's lawyers contacted us this morning. They're threatening civil suits—lost research, compromised trials. They're asking for three million."

Damn. That was more than the funeral home was worth.

"They want the files back," War added. "And they want you and Hunter to sign statements recanting everything. Admitting you broke in, stole materials, fabricated accusations."

"Which would mean Tyler's death gets swept under the rug," I said, bile rising in my throat. "Wright walks away clean."

"Yes." Shepherd's voice was flat.

"So, what do we do?"

War and Shepherd exchanged a look.

"We wait," War said finally. "Wright's betting you'll fold under pressure. But if they had solid ground, they'd have already moved. They're scared of what we have."

"Scared isn't beaten," Shepherd added. "But it's a start."

Eli appeared in the doorway, drowning in a black hoodie at least two sizes too big. "Hey," he said, and planted a kiss on Shepherd’s cheek.