Justin – POV
I prayed.
God, I fucking prayed.
Prayed for Rico and the team to bust in through the walls, to put bullets through every bastard in a white coat before I had to do the unthinkable. I kept counting seconds by the rhythm of June's breathing—her shallow, broken breaths where she curled against my chest like something half-alive, half-afraid.
But the seconds stretched into minutes, minutes stretched into hours—and still, no thunder of boots on steel floors. No shouts. No gunshots. Nothing.
Just silence and that damn voice inside my head that kept whispering:
They're not coming. Not in time. And they'll bring someone else to her if you don't act.
I couldn't let that happen.
Fuck. I couldn't even imagine it without wanting to rip the steel door from its hinges and tear every throat out. But with my bare hands cuffed and guards outside, that was just a fantasy. And fantasies don't save her.
Then the door opened.
