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Finn’s face is tight with pain—his jaw clenched and eyes grim—as he shakes his head. He doesn’t say anything, and it’s somehow worse than hearing the words I’m dreading.

My voice breaking, I demand again, “Where is he?”

“Conor’s in the back,” Rory finally answers, his voice low and heavy. “The doctor is with him. He’s not… It’s not good, Elena.”

“What do you mean,not good?” I struggle to speak the words through shallow gasps as my eyes dart between Finn and Rory.

Unable to meet my stare, Finn looks away, and I know…It’s not good.Conor might not make it.He doesn’t say it, but I can see itin the way he stands. And in the way Rory stares at me, trying to hold it together.

I need to get to Conor.

Pushing between the two of them, I do the only thing I can. I run.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

VICTORIA

I follow Elena into the club. The viewing hall feels long and narrow, as though it’s stretching endlessly before me. My feet grow heavier with every step, like some cruel reminder that I’m walking toward the inevitable.

Elena stares through the pane of glass before her. Every bit of hope gone—her shoulders slumped, and her face sullen—as she looks at the very thing I’m terrified to see. I focus on Elena with every step I take past the window, unable to bring myself to look at the other side.

I need to be strong for her.

Taking a moment, I close my eyes and turn. When I open my eyes, my breath catches in my throat as I stumble forward and press my hands to the cold sheet of glass. It’s everything I didn’t want to see. Conor is sprawled across a makeshift surgical table—pale, blood-soaked, and barely recognizable.

My vision is blurred with tears as I watch the doctor. He’s working in a frantic hurry, trying to save Conor. Trying desperately to keep him alive as blood spills over the sides ofthe table. The thick liquid drips to the floor, landing in the awaiting pools and splattering over the doctor’s previously white sneakers.

I’m frozen—unable to watch but equally unable to look away. My heart hammers, and I can’t breathe. I slide down the wall, my legs giving out. The icy tiles burn relentlessly against my skin, but it doesn’t matter.Nothing matters. I can’t feel anything but the heaviness in my chest… The weight of everything I left unsaid… All the things I was too afraid to say.

The tears come fast and hard. Uncontrolled. I bury my face in my hands. My body shakes, and I suck in short gasps as my body betrays me with sobs I can’t control. I try to pull myself together—to be strong—but I can’t. I can’t rid my thoughts of him, pale and lifeless on that table. His blood slowly staining the floor, every drop leaving me emptier.

He’s slipping away, and I never got the chance to say it.And now it’s too late. The thought of him just lying there, as if he’s already gone, rips through me. I never expected to cry like this—not for him—but I also never expected to love him this much. Pained wails rattle from my chest as my tears spill down my face.

A hand slides over my shoulder, and I flinch. The warmth and softness of it is familiar—grounding in a way that feels like a lifeline—but I can’t bring myself to look up. Acknowledging them means I have to admit that this is real. That this isn’t a nightmare and I’m not going to wake up from this reality.

“Vic… baby… We’re all here.” Elena’s soft, shaky voice whispers into my ear. I look up from my hands to find her sitting beside me. Her face is streaked with tears, her dark eyes red and pained, matching her hollow expression. She looks broken—it’s like looking into a mirror. Her arms reach out, and withoutthinking, I let her pull me into her, enveloping me in her warmth and sorrow.

I fall into her embrace like it’s the only thing that’s going to keep me from shattering into thousands of pieces. I lean into her, my tears soaking the soft cotton of her shirt as her soft, warm breaths blow over the top of my head. She holds me, both of us keeping each other from falling apart.Keeping me from falling apart..

I blink through my tears, forcing my burning eyes to open, to focus on the hallway. Catlin is kneeling next to us, her face streaked and her red eyes full with grief. Layla and Sasha’s expressions are equally somber as they squat beside us, their hands on our arms, offering what comfort they can.

The door beside us opens, and the doctor walks out slowly. “I did all I could.” His tone is somber. Suddenly, it feels like Elena can’t hold me tight enough to keep me from capitulating. “All we can do now is wait.”

“Vic,” Elena whispers, cracking with the thickness of her emotions. “We need to go… to be with him.”

I nod in agreement, but I am unable to bring myself to my feet. With steady hands, Elena grabs mine and pulls me from the floor. She’s holding it together, but even with how broken I am, I know my girl—she’s holding on by a thread.

She leads me into the room and to the table he’s resting on. I reach out but stop short of touching him. I don’t know if I should.But I need to. I need to feel him… To know he’s real… To know he’s still here. My hand hovers above his—still stained rust with blood—and my fingers shake.I can’t do it. Not like this.

“Con,” I whisper, my voice so ragged and broken it sounds foreign. “I’m so sorry… so sorry.” I don’t know if he can hear me, and I don’t know if it matters, but I say it again, anyway.

I hear a soft rustle behind me and glance over my shoulder. Elena stands beside me. and her fingers brush against mine as she takes my shaking hand and whispers, “It’s okay, Vic.” Lacing our fingers, she gives it a reassuring squeeze as we fall silent. The room is filled with the sounds of labored breathing and the comforting beep of machines reminding us that Conor is still here.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

ELENA

Conor’s brothers wander in and out of the room as I sit by his bedside. My hand resting gently on his, I wait for any sign that he’s still with us. Still fighting. But there’s nothing—no response, no movement. His fingers are cold, and the pulse beneath my touch is so weak, I barely register it. I find myself constantly checking his chest, making sure it’s rising and falling—painfully reminding me of the countless hours I spent as a hospice aide, watching patients die, before I met Vic. The steady sound of the machine beside him is the only reminder that he’s still alive, and even it seems to grow quieter with each passing day.

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