The lights flicker once—FLICK—then stabilize, casting a dull white glow over the room. The hum of machines—HHHHMMM…—never stops, like the building itself is breathing. Or watching.
I haven't moved from Serafin's side. My fingers are stiff from gripping his hand, but I don't loosen them. Not even for a second.
His chest rises shallowly—HAAH… HAAH…—and the sound alone keeps me anchored. Alive. Still here.
"Cao…" His voice is barely more than air.
"I'm here," I say immediately, leaning closer. "I'm not going anywhere."
The monitor ticks—BEEP… BEEP…—a rhythm that feels too slow, then too fast, then uneven. My jaw tightens.
One of the medics steps closer, clipboard in hand. "His blood pressure is fluctuating again."
I glare at her. "So fix it."
She exhales. "We're trying. His body is fighting—hard."
"Good," I snap. "That means he's not done yet."
The tactical officer shifts near the door—STEP—boots scraping softly against the floor. "You've been awake for nearly twenty-four hours."
"So?" I fire back without looking at him. "You want me to collapse now? That help your 'protocol'?"
"You're exhausted," he says calmly. "That makes you careless."
I finally look at him, eyes burning. "Touch him, move him, or suggest I leave again, and careless will be the least of your problems."
Serafin's fingers twitch—CLENCH—around mine, weak but deliberate. "Don't… fight…"
"I'm not fighting," I lie gently. "I'm just talking."
The door slides open—HISS—and a new figure steps inside. Older. Calm. Authority clinging to him like a shadow.
"Status?" the man asks.
The medic straightens. "Critical but stable. His vitals are fluctuating."
The man nods slowly, eyes landing on me. "And you are?"
I don't answer politely. "The reason he's alive."
A pause.
The tactical officer clears his throat. "This is the facility doctor."
"Good," I say. "Then you'll understand when I tell you that if anything happens to him because of this place, I'll burn it to the ground."
The doctor studies me, not offended. Curious. "You're emotionally compromised."
I laugh—sharp, humorless. "No shit."
Serafin groans softly—GROAN—his breathing hitching for a moment. The monitor stutters—BEEP—BEEP—BEEP—then steadies.
"Focus," the doctor says quietly. "He's under immense physiological stress. Emotional stimulation—positive or negative—can trigger another episode."
I lean closer to Serafin anyway. "Hey. Look at me. Breathe with me."
He swallows hard. "Hurts…"
"I know," I whisper. "But you're strong. You always have been."
The doctor watches us. "He needs to be moved."
My head snaps up. "No."
"Not negotiable," he replies. "There's another wing better equipped for neurological trauma."
"He won't survive transport," I say flatly.
"He might not survive staying here," the doctor counters.
The tactical officer adds, "Security will escort—"
"No," I cut in sharply. "You move him without me, you might as well kill him yourselves."
Serafin squeezes my hand weakly—CLENCH—as if trying to ground me. "Cao… don't…"
I shake my head. "Don't ask me to step back. I won't."
The doctor studies Serafin again, then me. "If he crashes mid-transfer, we won't be able to stabilize him fast enough."
Silence stretches. The machines fill it—HHHHMMM… BEEP… BEEP…
The tactical officer finally asks, "Then what do you suggest?"
I swallow, my throat tight. "Give him time. Just a little more time."
The doctor exhales slowly. "Time is the one thing he doesn't have."
Serafin's breathing stutters—HNNG—and his fingers slacken in mine. Panic surges through me like ice water.
"Hey!" I whisper urgently. "No. Stay with me. Don't you dare let go now."
The monitor spikes—BEEP BEEP BEEP—then drops again.
The medic moves fast. "He's crashing!"
I stand abruptly. "Do something!"
They flood around him—CLACK… HISS… BEEP—hands moving, voices overlapping.
"Pulse is weak!"
"Oxygen—now!"
"Stabilizers!"
I press my hands against the edge of the bed, shaking. "Serafin! Look at me!"
His eyes flutter open briefly. "Still… here…"
"Good," I choke out. "You stay that way."
The doctor turns to me sharply. "If he stabilizes, we move him. Agreed?"
My heart pounds. I nod once. "If he stabilizes."
Seconds stretch like hours. Then—BEEP… BEEP…—steady again. Weak, but steady.
The room exhales.
The medic wipes her forehead. "He's holding."
I sag slightly, gripping the bed to stay upright. "You hear that?" I whisper to Serafin. "You're still winning."
The doctor looks at the monitor, then at me. "Prepare yourself. This won't get easier."
I meet his gaze. "I didn't expect it to."
The lights hum louder—HHHHMMM—and somewhere in the distance, a door slams shut—BANG—echoing down the corridor.
I don't like that sound.
I tighten my grip on Serafin's hand as footsteps approach outside—STEP… STEP…—slow, deliberate.
Whatever comes next, I know one thing for certain:
They're not done with us yet.