Page 127 of Mason

I’ve been through a lot of shit. I've buried people I loved, watched others fall apart in front of me.

But this?

This one’s got a blade to my throat.

I can’t lose her.

Not when I’ve only just found her.

She’s the first person who didn’t see me as a weapon. Who looked past the scars and saw me. And now she’s behind those doors, being stitched back together by strangers while I sit out here like a fucking ghost.

The waiting room doors hiss open.

I lift my head, every muscle locking. My heart punches against my ribs.

A nurse walks out. Young. Scrubs spattered in blood—Shelby’s blood, and Jesus Christ, if I don’t get to my feet right now I’m going to fucking collapse.

“Family of Shelby Monroe?” she calls out.

I’m already moving, the words dragging me to my feet like a magnet. My heart’s in my throat. My throat’s in my gut. The world narrows down to the space between her mouth and the next words she says.

She looks right at me.

“She made it through surgery,” she says, voice steady but strained. “It was close. But she’s stable now. She’s going to make it.”

For a second, I don’t breathe.

I can’t.

The weight of every worst-case scenario I’ve been clinging to drops out of me all at once. I exhale like I’ve been underwater for years, and the air that rushes in tastes like salvation.

The room moves around me, but I don’t register anything. All I can do is drop into the nearest chair, bury my face in my hands, and let my soul claw its way back into my body. Piece by piece. Breath by breath.

She’s alive.

Shelby’s alive.

She’s still here.

And yeah, maybe we’re still in the middle of this war—maybe the hits will keep coming, and the blood won’t stop spilling—but for tonight?

Tonight, we claim a win.

A small, hard-fought, bloodstained victory.

And I’ll fucking take it.

I sit nextto Shelby’s bed, elbows on my knees, head bowed, hands clasped together as though in prayer.

But I don’t pray.

I’m not a praying man.

And yet, here I fucking am.

The machines beep around me, a steady rhythm, a cruel reminder that she’s still here, but just barely.

She hasn’t woken up.

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