Page 116 of Hide From Me

All I can do is press my palm to the side of Moe’s hand andwillhim to stay. I can’t even tell if the wetness on my cheeks is from the wind or the tears anymore—but they fall, unchecked, burning hot trails down skin that feels almost as cold as his.

The chopper lifts.

The earth shifts beneath us as we rise, tilting the world below into something distant and fading. Through the open doorway, I see the little house—the one I’d startedto believe in, the one where his laughter once filled the corners of my silence—shrinking into a pinprick beneath us. Like it never existed. Like we imagined it.

I squeeze his hand tighter, a silent scream in my grip.

Please.

Please let this not be the last time I feel him breathing. Please let him come back whole—or even broken, if that’s all we get. Just come back.

And through it all—the rotors, the shouting, the chaos—I swear I feel it. The faintest pressure. A squeeze.

So small I could have imagined it, but I don’t care.

I believe in it anyway.

Twenty-Seven

Moe

01-28-2026

Seaborn Medbay

Pain is the first thing I feel. It's not sharp or burning; it’s justheavy. It feels as though the very air surrounding me is too thick to breathe, as if something massive and invisible is pressing down on my chest, squeezing my ribs inward. My bones feel as if they are filled with wet cement, and my limbs are nailed down, rendered useless. This isn’t just the pain from wounds—no, this weight is different. It’s the kind of weight that comes fromlivingwhen you weren’t supposed to.

I force my eyes open, my eyelids sticky, and my lashes clumped together with sweat and grime. The world swims before me for a moment, then slowly sharpens. Stark white ceiling panels above slowly fade into my vision, accompanied by the faint, rhythmic beep of a monitor looping in the background, along with the sterile scent of antiseptic and stitched flesh.

Med bay.

Fuck.

It's a familiar ceiling, one I've stared at before, but it feels so foreign now, like a room borrowed from someone else's nightmare. I try to move, instinct taking over logic, but the moment I shift, a dozen needles of pain slice through me. My shoulder feels like it's tearing apart, while my thigh pulses hot and insistent, as if my heart has relocated there. A low groan escapes my throat before I can stop it.

“Jesus Christ—Moe?”

It'sCaspian.

I drag my gaze sideways too quickly, and white-hot stars explode behind my eyes. He’s there—right there—slouched in a chair, looking like he's been through his own war. His hair is a mess, wild and flattened in places as if he’s been yanking on it for hours. His hands are shaking, knuckles raw from clenching his fists, and his red eyes, rimmed with exhaustion and unshed tears, are wide and frantic as if he’s watching me die all over again.

“Hey. Hey—stay down.” Cordelia’s voice cuts through the haze as she appears behind him, moving quickly, her expression tight with concern. She scans my IV and grips it so tightly that it looks like she might hit me with it if I even think about sitting up again.

I blink slowly this time, trying to focus as the rest of the room gradually comes into view.

Jasmine is there, leaning against the far wall with her arms crossed tightly, her nails digging into her sleeves. Her mouth is set in a hard line, but her eyes—oh, her eyes look hollow, as if she’s barely holding the pieces together while watching Sam pace, back and forth like a tiger in a too-small cage.

“Where is she?” I whisper, my voice a raw rasp.

No one answers. The silence between the beeps of the monitors is louder than the sound of gunfire. I feel it pressing against me, crushing, until my fingers curl into the thin blanket covering me.

“Where the hell is she?” I try again, this time louder, my voice breaking. Caspian flinches as if I've hit him.

“Moe…”

“Did I hurt her?” I choke out. The words burn as they leave my mouth. My chest tightens, and my breath comes in ragged gasps. “Did I—God—did I scare her?”

Cordelia moves closer, sliding her hand over mine, grounding me.

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