Page 122 of Shadowed Hearts: Frost
Kade's shoulders relax almost imperceptibly. Decision made.
"I'm just surprised you're not planning to rappel into his hospital and extract him yourself."
A sound escapes my throat, almost laughter, rough around the edges. "Considered it. Too many variables."
Without thinking, I drive my elbow into his shoulder. Calibrated contact, more force than necessary for casual interaction. Kade's eyes widen before he steps forward, pulling me into a brief embrace.
One second. Two. Three. My limit reached.
I step back, hand flexing against unexpected sensory input. Even after sharing a bed, physical contact outside combat situations still registers as foreign, but not... unpleasant. The realization disturbs me more than the contact itself.
"Get some rest," Kade orders, checking his watch. "You look like death."
My attention snaps back to Vanessa's door. The monitor's rhythm remains steady, but my heartbeat hammers against my ribs. Rest means leaving her unguarded. Unacceptable variables.
"Asher." My first name carries weight when Kade uses it. "She's going to survive this."
A single nod. Nothing more to say.
His boots echo measured patterns against concrete as he moves away. I resume position against the wall. Back straight, weight distributed, sight lines clear to both corridor approaches and her medical bay.
The antiseptic smell intensifies with each breath, sharp and wrong mixed with traces of her presence. Footsteps approach from the far end of the hallway, and my awareness shifts automatically, noticing rhythm and weight. Medical staff. Authorized.
Even here, in the most secure location in the city, my hand stays within six inches of my weapon. Not from immediate threat assessment, but from the simple fact that she's vulnerable, and my body refuses to stand down.
The monitor skips a beat.
My hand moves to my weapon before conscious thought processes the sound. Just equipment fluctuation, nothing more. But in that split second of terror, when her heartbeat faltered, something fundamental shifts inside my chest.
I'm not guarding an asset anymore.
I'm protecting the only thing in this world that matters.
And I'll kill anyone who tries to take her from me.
Sixty-seven minutes. The number burns behind my eyes like a sniper scope held too long in the desert sun.
Every sound from Vanessa's room etches itself into memory. Another nurse rotation, medication cart wheels squeaking past, the soft beep of monitors that should sound reassuring but don't.
My back is still pressed against the hallway wall. The pressure doesn't stop the fractures spreading through my chest, doesn't hold together what's threatening to shatter completely.
Distance calculations used to be my refuge. Clean mathematics. Predictable outcomes.
Fourteen feet to her bedside. The space might as well be an ocean.
Through the glass panel, medical staff flow in patterns. The older nurse moves with steady hands, competent. The younger one fumbles with IV lines, liability. My eyes track every movement while part of me screams that none of this analysis matters.
Can't shoot her illness. Can't eliminate poison from her bloodstream. Can't command her brilliant mind to fight harder.
The monitors display numbers that should mean something: heart rate steady, blood pressure acceptable, oxygen levels holding. Just numbers. Not the sharp wit that challenges me. Not the laugh that somehow found cracks in armor I thought impenetrable.
Sarah's face flickers behind my eyelids. Different hospital, different failure, same crushing weight of helplessness.
Should have been faster. Should have seen the threat. Should have—
"Hold on, my little bunny."
The endearment slips out, the softness is foreign on my tongue. If the team heard it, they'd think the chemicals claimed me too. But here, alone in this sterile corridor counting heartbeats on a monitor screen, the mask doesn't matter.
