Page 74 of Lords of Ruin: Cherished

"Is that the app tracking the mechanical heart?" Damien asks, panic shooting through him as he reaches for my phone. His birthday dinner forgotten, his face ashen under the harsh glow of the dashboard lights.

"Yes," I manage through gritted teeth. The interface that normally shows a steady rhythm now flashes crimson warnings, numbers plummeting into dangerous territory. The app was designed as aprecaution, a way to monitor the sophisticated machinery keeping her alive. Right now, it's become a countdown clock.

I tighten my grip on the wheel, my knuckles white as I push the car to its limits. The tires screech against the asphalt as I maneuver through traffic, narrowly avoiding a collision with a speeding truck. My heart slams against my ribs, a painful reminder that Willow's might not be beating at all.

A red light looms ahead, but I don't slow down.

"Cast, you can't—" Damien starts, but falls silent as I thread the needle between two crossing cars, their horns blaring in our wake.

Damien swears under his breath, his eyes locked on the screen as the app blares red. "Her heart is failing—Cast, we're losing her." His voice cracks on the last word, the reality of what's happening finally penetrating through the shock.

"No." The word rips from my throat, raw and broken. Not her. Not now. Not after everything we've survived together. Not when I've only just begun to believe we might have a future.

In the back seat, Vincent clutches the door handle, his jaw set, his face pale. He was supposed to meet us at the restaurant, but called for a ride at the last minute. Now he's trapped in this nightmare with us. "How long does she have?"

Damien doesn't answer right away. His fingers fly over the screen, trying to stabilize the signal, trying to will the mechanical heart back to life through sheer desperation. The silence stretches between us, heavy with unspoken terror.

"Damien!" I bark, swerving around a slow-moving SUV. "How. Long."

"Three minutes, maybe four before irreversible damage," he finally answers, his medical training cutting through his panic. "If her heart stops completely..." He doesn't finish the sentence.

I already know the answer. If she flatlined, if her heart stopped—every second mattered. If she doesn't get medical attention in time the heart will stop pumping and she will be—fuck I don't even want to think the fucking word.

I slam the gas pedal down, the engine roaring in protest as we hit ninety on a forty-five road. My vision narrows to a tunnel, every cell in my body focused on a single goal: reach her in time.

"Can you track where she is?" I rasp, swerving in and out of lanes. The hospital is still eight minutes away at this speed. Too long. Far too long.

"I'm trying," Damien says, his fingers trembling slightly as he navigates through the app.

"The GPS is—wait." His breath catches. "She's not at home. She's not heading to the restaurant either."

Vincent leans forward, his breath hot on my neck. "Where then?"

"Oakridge Drive," Damien says, looking up with confusion. "Why would she be?—"

"There's been an accident on Oakridge," Vincent interrupts, his phone in hand, scanning local alerts. "Major collision, emergency services on scene, roads blocked."

My blood turns to ice. Accident. Heart failure. The connection is instantaneous and devastating.

"She crashed," I whisper, the words barely audible over the engine's roar. "Her heart gave out while she was driving."

Damien's face contorts with horror. "Cast?—"

"New plan," I cut him off, yanking the wheel hard right at the next intersection. "We're going to Oakridge. Now."

The car leaps forward like a living thing sensing my desperation. In my mind, I see her—trapped, alone, her life literally ticking away with each passing second. The mechanical heart that gave her a second chance now betrays her when she needs it most.

"Hold on, Willow," I murmur, as if she could somehow hear me across the distance. "Just hold on. I'm coming."

Behind me, Vincent has gone eerily quiet, his breathing shallow and controlled. Damien stares at the app, watching Willow's life signs fluctuate dangerously. The weight of our shared fear fills the car, thick enough to choke on.

I push the accelerator even harder, praying to gods I don't believe in that traffic parts like the Red Sea, that every light stays green, that the seconds stretching between us and Willow somehow slow down just enough.

Because I know with bone-deep certainty that if we don't reach her in time, it won't just be Willow's heart that stops tonight.

The wail of sirens grows louder as we approach Oakridge Drive, the flashing lights of emergency vehicles painting the night in surreal strokes of red and blue. Traffic has ground to a halt, but I don't care—I mount the curb, driving half on the sidewalk until we can't go any further.

I abandon the car in the middle of the road, leaving the door hanging open as I sprint toward the chaos ahead. Damien and Vincent are right behind me, their footfalls heavy on the asphalt.

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