The car didn't stop moving.
Not for lights.
Not for turns.
Not for anything.
The producer kept driving, switching lanes, cutting through streets like he'd done this before.
No hesitation.
No second guessing.
Inside the car—
No one spoke.
At first.
Jayden leaned back, eyes half-closed, breathing uneven. His hand was still pressed against his side, but the blood wasn't slowing the way it should.
Amara was still holding pressure, her hands stained now.
"You're losing too much," she said quietly.
"I'm still here," Jayden replied.
"That's not the point."
Dre glanced back.
It was bad.
Worse than before.
"We need to stop somewhere," Dre said.
Jayden shook his head slightly.
"No hospitals."
The producer nodded immediately. "Yeah, that's not happening."
Amara looked between them. "Then where?"
Silence again.
Then the producer spoke.
"I know a place."
Dre frowned slightly. "Safe?"
"Safe enough."
Jayden didn't argue.
Didn't have the energy to.
The car turned into a quieter part of the city.
Less traffic.
Less noise.
Less attention.
They pulled up in front of a small, run-down building.
Nothing special.
Nothing noticeable.
The engine cut off.
"Come on," the producer said, already stepping out.
Dre got out first, scanning the area quickly.
Clear.
For now.
Jayden tried to move—
But the pain hit harder this time.
Amara grabbed him immediately.
"Easy—don't rush it."
"I'm not trying to stay in the car," he muttered.
With Dre on one side and Amara on the other, they helped him out.
Slow.
Careful.
They moved inside quickly.
The place was quiet.
Dim.
But not empty.
A man looked up from across the room.
Older.
Calm.
Like he'd seen this before.
The producer nodded at him.
"We need help."
The man stood up without asking questions.
"Lay him down."
Jayden was guided onto a worn couch.
His body finally giving in slightly as he leaned back.
Amara stepped back just enough for the man to look at the wound.
He didn't react much.
Just nodded once.
"Bullet still inside," he said.
Amara's heart dropped.
"We don't got time for slow work," the producer added.
The man looked at him.
"You want him alive or comfortable?"
Silence.
"Alive," Dre answered.
The man nodded again.
"Then let me work."
The room shifted.
Everything focused on one thing.
Jayden gripped the edge of the couch.
His jaw tight.
"No anesthesia?" he asked.
The man didn't even look up.
"Not unless you want to pass out for good."
Jayden exhaled slowly.
"Do it."
Amara turned her head slightly.
She couldn't watch fully—
But she didn't leave.
Dre stood near the wall.
Tense.
Thinking.
The producer stayed close, arms folded, watching everything carefully.
Jayden didn't scream.
But the pain—
It hit hard.
Deep.
Unforgiving.
His grip tightened.
Breathing heavy.
Amara closed her eyes for a second.
"Almost done," the man said calmly.
A few more seconds—
Then—
"It's out."
Jayden's body finally relaxed slightly.
Not fully.
But enough.
The man stepped back, holding the bullet briefly before dropping it aside.
"Now he rests," he said.
Jayden didn't respond.
His eyes were already closing.
Amara moved closer again, sitting beside him.
Watching.
Dre exhaled slowly.
Finally.
The producer looked at him.
"You brought this to us."
Dre didn't deny it.
"I'm trying to fix it."
The producer shook his head slightly.
"You better."
Because now—
They were all in it.
No sides.
No distance.
Just one problem.
Amara spoke, barely above a whisper.
"What happens when he wakes up?"
Dre looked at Jayden.
Then away.
"…we stop running."
Outside, the city kept moving.
Like nothing happened.
But inside that room—
Everything had changed.