RAGNAR
I open my eyes and see the cold hospital room lights above me. I blink, trying to focus my vision.
What’s going on? Why am I in the hospital? For a moment, a wave of confusion washes over me.
"Oh dear Fate, he opened his eyes!" I hear my dad’s voice, and a second later, his pale face appears in my field of vision. His golden eyes are full of worry.
"I always knew that damn motorcycle would be the death of you!"
No, not that again. I wince, surprised that nothing actually hurts when I make that grimace.
But in that sentence, he gave me the answer to why I’m in the hospital.
An accident.
Fuck.
With some effort, I try to remember exactly what happened.
The fog in my brain starts to lift, and I begin to piece together how I ended up here.
I vaguely remember speeding like a lunatic, trying to outrun something.
Trying to clear my head, maybe. But the image is way too hazy, I’m not even sure what really took place.
In any case, I need to defend my bike.
"It wasn’t the bike’s fault. Just my stupidity. And the speed," I mutter.
Unfortunately, the speed didn’t wipe anything out for good. As I blink and wrestle with my sluggish body, some pretty clear memories start to surface. I remember what happened the day before the crash all too well, and the image is still there, sharp as a blade.
"Oh, Ragnar, I was so worried when they called. It’s every parent’s worst nightmare."
What can I say? I fumble with my words, trying to reset myself to this new reality.
"What’s with the bike… wrecked?"
My father snorts, but Dad responds, "No, not that much. Your friend Hunter called on your phone just a couple hours ago. We picked up and told him about the accident. He came by, but you were still unconscious. He said he’ll take care of the bike."
Hunter came here? That’s good news. I’m almost shocked, but it’s a nice gesture that he wants to help with the bike. He’s into motorcycles too, though not as intensely as I am. Still, it’s a relief he’ll take care of it.
There’s a moment of silence.
But then there’s something I just have to say. Right now. Before I let myself overthink and start questioning everything I am.
"I’m taking Summer out of there, Dad," I blurt, no warning, no lead-up.
Dad’s face freezes.
"What? You just had a serious injury, don't—"
"I think Moon is safe from Anzo, and I can look for him when I’m already outside. But Summer isn’t safe. So you guys need to start getting ready. Wrap up everything. Two weeks, max, and we disappear."
My dad gapes at me. Then he leans into my view, and I see that vertical crease between his brows.
He’s very serious when he says, "Of course we’ll be ready, Raggi. Get Summer away from that monster. Nothing is more important! There’s no need to put it off any longer."
His hand rests on my shoulder, supportive, encouraging.
"Your brother’s been through enough. Let’s end this."
As he nods, I meet his eyes. I know Summer’s not the only one who’s suffered. They have too. Ten long months of waiting, worn down by stress over their youngest son, forced to helplessly watch from a distance while I carried out this uncertain mission, inching forward painfully slowly.
I’ve got dozens of missed calls from them, because I just couldn’t give them the updates they were hoping for.
But now it’s almost over. It’s time. I have to get Summer out.
The only problem is… I can’t bring myself to leave Sun behind. Some part of me is still clinging to this desperate hope that I’ve got two weeks left to pull off a fucking miracle. To figure out a strategy that actually works.
But is that even possible without… something extraordinary?
Should a soldier believe in miracles instead of a rock-solid, perfect plan?
Dad leans over me, his hand brushing my cheek.
"Ragnar, I know with your regeneration, a concussion isn’t a big deal, and the rest of your injuries are already almost healed.
But please, stay in the hospital for a few more days before going back there.
Do it for me, for my peace of mind. That call from the hospital was a nightmare.
For a second I thought: all my children…
gone. I thought I lost you! So I’m begging you, give yourself a few more days. "
I close my eyes again, trying to find the strength to argue. But I can’t. Or maybe I’m not even trying that hard?
The truth is… I’m scared to look Sun in the eye. In a way, it seems more terrifying than NFH militants. Because there’s no simple solution.
Maybe it’s a good thing if I delay going back a little longer?
I need more time to prepare. To face him… and to fail him again?