Evelyn's legs trembled so badly she thought they might give out beneath her. Her breath was shallow, the world spinning in a haze, when a sharp, urgent voice cut through the fog.
"Eve! Eve!"
She turned toward the sound. Carol Hayes—a state trooper she recognized—came running, her uniform darkened with sweat and dust. Carol grasped Evelyn's hand firmly, grounding her in that moment.
"Water," Carol barked over her shoulder to another trooper.
The man sprinted to the patrol car, retrieved a bottle, and rushed back. Carol swung open the passenger door of the police cruiser.
"Sit down, Eve," she urged, guiding her into the seat and pressing the water bottle into her trembling hands.
Evelyn's voice cracked as she looked up. "Carol… What's happening?"
Carol crouched slightly, her expression a mix of focus and concern. "Don't panic. Drink some water and listen to me carefully."
Evelyn swallowed hard, unscrewing the cap, but her fingers shook too much to lift the bottle to her lips.
"There's been a shootout near South Church Woods," Carol said, her voice low but urgent. "With the Interstate gang called Blackwood. Our sources… underestimated their strength. Some of our troopers are injured."
Evelyn's heart pounded, dread clawing at her throat. "Daniel?"
Carol's eyes softened, and she placed a steadying hand on Evelyn's shoulder. "He's one of them… He's at Central City Hospital."
The words hit like a physical blow. Evelyn sank back into the seat, curling into herself, eyes squeezed shut as if willing the moment to disappear.
"I know this isn't the time," Carol said quietly, "but you need to stay calm."
Evelyn shook her head, her chest tightening. Without another word, she pushed herself out of the car. "Let me go."
Carol stepped in front of her. "Stop. You can't drive in this mental state—you'll get yourself hurt. I'll take you."
She marched over to her superior, exchanged a few brief words, then returned to Evelyn. "Come on. Let's go."
They climbed into the cruiser together, the siren silent but the engine roaring to life. The city blurred past in a smear of color and sound, each mile feeling like an eternity until the Central City Hospital loomed ahead.
The police cruiser rolled into the hospital's parking lot, tires crunching over gravel before coming to a stop. Before the engine had even fully shut off, Evelyn flung the door open and bolted toward the casualty wing.
A cluster of ten, maybe twelve reporters had gathered outside the entrance, microphones and cameras jutting forward like weapons. Their voices blended into a chaotic chorus of questions. Two uniformed troopers stood firm, arms outstretched, holding the crowd back.
"Let me through! Let me through!" Evelyn cried, pushing toward the cordon.
One of the troopers glanced up at her, his brow furrowing. Recognition flashed in his eyes.
"Mrs. Morris!" he called to his partner over the noise. "She's Daniel's wife—let her through!"
The other officer immediately stepped aside, creating a gap in the blockade. Evelyn didn't hesitate. She slipped through and pushed open the heavy glass doors to the outdoor area of the casualty ward, her high heels clattering sharply against the concrete floor.
Inside, the air felt heavier, saturated with antiseptic and quiet urgency. Doctors and nurses moved with brisk precision, voices kept low. The grim atmosphere pressed down on her chest as she scanned for any sign of Daniel.
"Daniel Morris!" she gasped out, breathless.
Before she could get further, Carol came jogging up behind her, her face flushed from the run.
At the reception desk, a woman in pale blue scrubs quickly checked the patient list. "He's alive," she said firmly. "Currently being operated on. Third floor."
Evelyn's knees almost buckled from the wave of relief and fear tangled together. "Thank you," she managed before turning and sprinting toward the elevators. Carol was right behind her, her boots striking the floor in a steady rhythm.
The elevator doors slid open on the third floor. Evelyn stopped just outside, one hand on the wall, trying to steady her breathing. Carol stood beside her, close enough to catch her if she swayed.
"Eve, look at me," Carol said quietly. "He's alive. He's in surgery. That's what we know."
Evelyn nodded too fast, words tumbling out. "How bad— I mean— just tell me the truth."
"The truth is what I just said," Carol replied, calm but firm. "Alive. In surgery."
Evelyn pressed her lips together. "I can't make my hands stop shaking."
"Plant your feet," Carol said, tapping the floor with her boot. "Both flat. Now breathe with me—slow in… slow out."
Evelyn tried, a ragged inhale catching halfway. "I keep hearing you say 'shootout' and 'injured.' It won't stop replaying."
"I know," Carol said. "Let's stay with what's right in front of us."
"What if—" Evelyn's voice thinned. "What if the next person who comes through those doors says something I can't survive?"
Carol's eyes met hers. "Then I'll be standing next to you when they do. But right now, no one's saying anything except that he's alive."
Evelyn blinked hard. "I don't know what to do with my hands."
"Hold mine," Carol said, offering it. "Or hold the chair. Doesn't matter. Just something solid."
Evelyn took her hand, grip cold. "Thank you for… for getting me there. I don't even remember most of the drive."
"That's alright," Carol said. "You didn't need to."
"Was it—" Evelyn swallowed. "Was it really Blackwood?"
"Yes," Carol said. "That part's real." She didn't elaborate.
Evelyn stared at a scuff on the floor. "When you said 'our sources underestimated them,' I felt the floor drop out of me."
"I know." Carol's thumb moved once across Evelyn's knuckles, steady. "But we're not down there in that moment anymore. We're here."
"I keep thinking: what was he doing in the second before it happened? Was he—" She cut herself off. "No. I shouldn't ask."
"You can ask anything," Carol said. "I may not have answers."
Evelyn worked at the cap of the water bottle, then let it go. "My head won't hold still. It keeps grabbing at… at pieces."
"Then we give your head a job," Carol said gently. "Count your breaths. Five in, five out."
Evelyn tried again. "One… two… three… four… five." Her chest hitched. "I hate this room. I hate these lights."
"I know," Carol said. "Me too."
A beat passed, filled with distant footsteps and the soft hum of air vents.
"Do you think he can hear me?" Evelyn whispered. "If I talk… would it reach him?"
"I don't know," Carol said. "But if it helps you, talk."
Evelyn nodded, voice barely sound. "Daniel, I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere." She swallowed. "I'm right here."
Carol stood like a post beside her, letting the words settle.
"I'm afraid if I sit, I won't stand up again," Evelyn said.
"Then don't sit," Carol answered. "We can stand."
Evelyn looked at her. "You're very calm."
"I'm practiced," Carol said. "Calm is just something I do until the facts change."
Evelyn's mouth trembled into something like a broken smile. "That sounds like you."
Carol tilted her head. "It's the only thing that works for me."
Evelyn's gaze drifted to the elevator doors. "When they open again, I want it to be for him."
"I know," Carol said. "And when someone does come out, we'll listen together."
Evelyn tightened her grip. "Say it again."
"He's alive," Carol said, steady as a metronome. "He's in surgery."
Evelyn closed her eyes. "Alive. In surgery."
"Good," Carol said. "Keep saying it if you need to."
"I'm sorry if I'm… not making sense," Evelyn murmured.
"You're making perfect sense," Carol replied. "You're here."
Evelyn breathed, slower now. "If I fall apart—"
"I'll keep you from hitting the floor," Carol said. "That's a promise."
Evelyn nodded, jaw set. "Okay."
They stood that way—hands linked, breath by breath—anchored to the one fact they had.
The operation theater's double doors swung open with a muted thud. A team of doctors emerged, masks pulled down, latex gloves being stripped from their hands with soft snaps.
Evelyn was on her feet before she realized she'd moved. "Doctor… doctor, how is he?" Her voice cracked, the words almost tumbling over each other.
One of the surgeons looked past her first, his eyes landing on Carol. "Who is she?"
Carol stepped forward. "She's the wife of Daniel Morris."
The doctor's expression shifted. He approached Evelyn, placing both hands gently on her shoulders. "Please, sit down."
Her knees weakened, and she obeyed, lowering herself into the nearest chair without protest.
The doctor crouched slightly to meet her eyes. "Mrs. Morris… your husband is in critical condition. He lost a great deal of blood. He was hit by seven bullets — two in the right thigh, four in the chest, and one in the left foot. We removed them, but…" He paused. "His lungs were badly punctured, which caused severe internal bleeding."
Evelyn's breath caught, the words lodging like stones in her chest.
"Pray to God that he will survive," the doctor finished quietly, then gave a small nod before turning away, disappearing down the corridor.
For a moment, the world felt soundless. Then Evelyn's voice broke the stillness, barely above a whisper. "Seven bullets, Carol… his chest…"
Carol crouched beside her, one hand finding Evelyn's. "I know."
"It's too much," Evelyn said, shaking her head as tears blurred her vision. "How can anyone survive that?"
Carol's voice was steady, though her grip was firm. "Some do. And Daniel's a fighter. Don't start saying goodbye yet."
Evelyn looked at her, eyes searching. "I'm so scared."
"I'm scared too," Carol admitted. "But fear's not what he needs from us right now."
Evelyn swallowed hard, her free hand clutching the edge of the chair. "Then what does he need?"
"For us to be here," Carol said simply. "To be ready when he wakes up."
Evelyn nodded, though her tears kept falling. "Then we'll be here."
Carol gave her hand a small squeeze. "That's right. We'll be here."
The elevator ride to the ICU felt longer than the drive from the hospital entrance. Each floor that passed with a faint chime made Evelyn's pulse thud harder in her ears. Carol stood beside her, silent but present, her stance protective.
When the doors opened, a nurse in pale green scrubs waited in the hallway.
"Mrs. Morris?" she asked softly.
Evelyn nodded. Her voice wouldn't work, so she didn't try to speak.
"This way, please," the nurse said, leading them down a corridor lined with glass-walled rooms. The air here was cooler, filtered, tinged with the faint scent of antiseptic. Every few steps, machines beeped in steady rhythms, marking the fragile life within each room.
They stopped at a door halfway down. The nurse pushed it open.
Evelyn froze.
Daniel lay on the bed, pale against the white sheets, his chest rising and falling in shallow, mechanical rhythm. A ventilator tube curved into his mouth, hissing softly with each breath it gave him. Clear tubes ran from his arms into bags of fluid and blood. Bandages were wrapped high on his thigh, across his chest, and around his left foot — layers of white and gauze hiding wounds she could barely bring herself to imagine.
A heart monitor flickered in green, each beep sounding too far apart.
Evelyn stepped closer, her heels clicking once on the tile before she stopped at his bedside. She reached for his hand, careful of the IV line, and found it cool to the touch.
"Daniel…" Her voice broke on the second syllable. "I'm here. I'm not leaving you."
Carol stood just inside the doorway, watching, her jaw tight.
"He looks… smaller," Evelyn whispered, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead. "Like all the weight's been taken out of him."
"He's still him," Carol said, voice low but certain. "This is just what the fight looks like right now."
Evelyn bent closer, her lips near his ear. "I'm right here. You just have to keep breathing. I'll do the rest until you can."
A nurse stepped in briefly to check the monitors, adjusting the IV drip. "He's stable for now," she said, then left without further words.
Evelyn stayed leaning over him, her thumb gently tracing the back of his hand. "You hear that? Stable. That's the first step."
Carol came to stand beside her, one hand resting lightly on Evelyn's shoulder. "We'll take every step that comes."
Evelyn nodded slowly, her eyes never leaving Daniel's face. "Every step," she repeated.
It was nearing dusk when the door to the ICU opened again. Evelyn looked up from Daniel's bedside to see her parents stepping in, their faces pale and drawn. Behind them, her in-laws entered slowly, her mother-in-law's hand gripping her husband's arm as if the act of walking required all her strength.
No one spoke at first. The only sound was the ventilator's soft hiss and the quiet, steady beeping from the heart monitor. Evelyn rose, her fingers still curled lightly around Daniel's hand.
Her mother came to her side, wrapping her in a long, silent embrace. Evelyn's father stood a step back, eyes fixed on the man lying in the bed, his jaw clenched. Across from them, Daniel's parents moved to the other side of the bed. His mother brushed her son's hair back with trembling fingers; his father rested a hand on the blanket over Daniel's leg.
They spoke in hushed tones — short, practical questions about what the doctors had said, how long he'd been like this, whether there was any change. Evelyn answered as best she could, though each word felt heavier than the last.
Night fell slowly outside the window, the streetlights glowing faintly against the deepening blue. Inside, the air in the ICU seemed to thicken, the rhythm of the machines the only measure of time passing.
Just after midnight, the sound changed.
The beeping on the heart monitor slowed, stretching the space between each note until they no longer formed a rhythm at all. Evelyn's head snapped toward the screen, then to Daniel's face. The nurse's call button was pressed, voices rose in urgent tones, and within seconds the room filled with medical staff.
"Step back, please!" a doctor ordered, but Evelyn couldn't move until Carol's arms came around her, guiding her away. She watched from just inside the doorway as they worked — compressions, injections, shouts for instruments she didn't understand.
Then the monitor gave one long, unbroken tone.
The doctor looked up, his eyes sweeping the room, then landing on Evelyn. His voice was quiet but final.
"I'm sorry. We did everything we could."
Evelyn's knees gave way, and she sank against Carol, the sound that escaped her unlike anything she'd ever made before — part cry, part gasp, part silence. Behind her, her mother wept openly; her father's hand covered his mouth. Daniel's mother collapsed into her husband's arms, her sobs muffled against his chest.
Daniel Morris was gone.