Page 113 of Knight

Bishop nods, already moving to lift Knight. “Let’s get him to bed.”

I straighten. My legs feel weak, and for a second I’m not sure they’re going to hold my weight. I take a second to regain my balance, while Bishop and Rook lift Knight carefully, his weight sagging between them. He groans faintly, his head dropping against Bishop’s shoulder. They move together, trying not to jostle Knight, but every step feels agonizingly slow. By the time they lower him onto the bed, my hands are shaking so badly I have to press them into my thighs to keep still.

“Go clean up,” I manage to force out. “I’ll stay.”

Bishop hesitates, his gaze flicking between Knight and me, then he nods.

“I’ll send in coffee.” He leaves the room.

Rook takes one look at me, and sets up the IV himself. I don’t think I could have done it with the way I’m shaking. Once he’sdone, he follows his brother out. The door clicks shut, leaving us alone.

I lower myself onto the edge of the bed. Knight’s face is pale, his lips almost colorless. His breathing is shallow, each rise and fall of his chest painfully slow. I take his hand again, wrapping my fingers around his.

“You don’t get to die. Not after everything.”

The silence presses down on me, heavy and suffocating. My gaze darts to the IV. The line is steady, the bag full.

It’s working. Ithasto be working.

The minutes stretch endlessly, marked only by the uneven sound of Knight’s breathing. Each rasp feels like a battle, every shallow rise and fall of his chest a tenuous victory. I adjust the blanket over him, trying to ignore the icy coldness of his skin beneath my touch. My heart thunders in my ears as I sit back, my eyes fixed on his face.

The door creaks open, and Rook steps inside, a mug of coffee in one hand.

“Cleanup is done. Bishop’s taking care of the rest.” He hands me the mug.

“What happened? Who shot him?”

“That’s for Knight to explain. You’ll have to ask him when he wakes up.” His eyes move over me, his expression unreadable. “He’s going to be out for a while. You should try and get some rest. We’ll be out here if you need anything.” He doesn’t wait for a reply, and leaves me alone again.

The room feels too still, too quiet. I focus on the faint rhythm of Knight’s breathing, counting each breath like it’s the only thing keeping my own going. I’m surprised to discover anger still simmering beneath the surface—at being left behind, at not knowing what went wrong—but it’s not as strong as the relief of him being here.

Memories flash through my mind. Knight’s laugh, his sarcastic banter. The way he’d turned to look at me, the half-smile like the world amused and irritated him in equal measures. My eyes burn, and I shove the thoughts away. He’s here now. That’s what matters.

Reaching out, I brush a damp strand of hair from his forehead.

“You’d better make it through this. I’m not letting you off the hook that easily.”

His breathing stutters for a moment, and I freeze, holding my breath until it evens out again, the rise and fall of his chest returning to that fragile rhythm.

Exhaustion bears down on me, but I can’t move, can’t look away.

He’s alive. He came back to me.

Everything else can wait.

CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE

Knight

Pain dragsme through layers of unconsciousness and into unwelcome awareness. Each heartbeat sends fresh waves of fire through my body, but strangely that’snotwhat catches my focus first.

Eva is curled up in the chair beside the bed, her fingers tangled with mine like she needed the contact even in sleep. I have a vague recollection of her refusing to leave while someone stitched me up.

She looks exhausted, dark circles beneath her eyes evidence of her vigil. Her hair has come loose from its ponytail, falling across her face, and I untangle my hand so I can reach out to brush it back. The gesture feels natural, automatic, like touching her is something I do all the time.

My hand freezes mid-motion.

What the fuck am I doing?

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