31. Alexandra
Sound comes before light.
Not words at first — just a voice. Low. Rough. Cracking in places it tries to hide.
“Hey. Come on, baby. You gotta wake up.”
Baby.
The word floats through the dark, warm and heavy. It feels important. Safe. I try to hold onto it, but my body doesn’t listen. Everything is so tired. Like I’ve been running for days and only just stopped.
There’s pressure in my side. A deep ache that pulses slow and dull, wrapped in something tight. My mouth tastes like metal and cotton. My limbs won’t move when I tell them to.
“Lex,” the voice says again, closer now. “Please.”
Cole.
I try to open my eyes. I really do. They flutter, burn, then close again. It feels easier to sink back down, into the dark where nothing hurts quite as sharply.
“No,” he says immediately, like he felt it. Like he knows when I’m about to disappear again. “Hey. Stay with me. Just—just open your eyes. That’s all I’m asking.”
There’s a tremor in his voice that doesn’t belong there.
Something brushes my hand. Fingers, rough and warm, wrapping around mine like an anchor. He’s holding on too tight — not painful, just desperate.
“I’m right here,” he murmurs. “You hear me? You’re safe. I’ve got you.”
Safe.
The word settles into me, easing something tight in my chest.
I try again.
This time, light leaks in.
It’s too bright at first — white and hazy, like I’m underwater and someone’s shining a flashlight from above. Shapes blur. A ceiling. A wall. Then a face, hovering too close.
Cole.
His eyes are red. Bloodshot. Wild in a way I’ve never seen before. Like he hasn’t blinked in days. Like he’s been holding his breath and forgot how to let it out.
“There you are,” he says, and his voice breaks completely. “Fuck. There you are.”
I want to answer him. I want to tell him I’m okay. That he can stop looking like that.
My throat barely works.
“Hey,” I manage. It comes out thin. Small.
Relief hits his face so hard it almost knocks him sideways. He bows his head, pressing his forehead to my hand like it’s the only solid thing left in the world.
“Don’t do that to me,” he whispers. “Don’t scare me like that.”
I’m so tired.
My eyes drift closed again before I can stop them.
“No,” he says instantly. “No, stay. Just for a second more. You can sleep after. I promise.”
I force my lids open, blinking slowly. The room comes into better focus. Clean. Not quite a hospital, but close enough. The smell of antiseptic hangs in the air.
My side throbs, sharper now that I’m awake enough to feel it.
“I hurt,” I whisper.
“I know,” he says softly. “Doc fixed you up. You’re gonna be okay. I swear.”
Doc.
That registers dimly.
I breathe in, then out. It feels like work. Everything feels like work.
“You stayed,” I murmur.
He lets out something between a laugh and a sob. “I never left.”
That makes sense. Of course he didn’t. I squeeze his fingers as best I can. It’s weak, barely there, but he reacts like I’ve grabbed him with my whole strength.
“Sleep,” he says gently now. “I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be right here when you wake up again.”
I believe him.
This time, when the dark pulls me under, I let it.
Because his voice follows me.
And for the first time since the warehouse, I’m not afraid to close my eyes.
***
A couple days later, I’m upright.
Which apparently means I’m no longer entitled to personal space.
Cole hasn’t left my side since I woke up for real. Not to sleep. Not to eat—at least not without keeping one hand on me like I might evaporate if he blinks too long. When I shift in my chair, he shifts with me. When I stand, he’s already there, palm planted at my lower back like a seatbelt.
It’s a lot.
And somehow, I love it.
He isn’t the only one hovering, though Rasmus’s brand of care is less about physical anchors and more about clearing the wreckage. He’s been indispensable, moving through my life like a ghost to fix everything I’m currently too broken to touch. He already dealt with the university, spinning a story about a sudden health crisis that required a few weeks of recovery. They don’t know about the blood or the lead—just that I’m unavailable for lectures.
We’re crammed around the long table in the clubhouse—the big one that looks like it’s survived three wars and a bar fight. I’m wedged between Cole and Ella with a blanket over my shoulders despite telling everyone, repeatedly, that I don’t need the damn thing.
Around us: Bruiser, Riot, Doc, Neon, Ink, Cyber, Engine. Loud. Familiar. Mine.
I let out a slow breath and shake my head. “I still can’t fucking believe I was actually shot.”
The table goes dead quiet.
Riot breaks first. “Yeah,” he says, grimacing. “Gonna go out on a limb and say that part sucked.”
“I’ve never even held a gun,” I add. “Not once. And somehow I end up with a bullet in me. Make it make sense.”
Neon snorts. “Welcome to America.”
I wrinkle my nose at him. “This place is insane.”
A few of them laugh. Bruiser just watches me over his mug, thoughtful in that unnerving, quiet way of his.
“Back in Europe,” I go on, “you don’t just… wander around with weapons like accessories. You need permits. Training. Actual reasons.”
“Reasons like not dying?” Ink says.
“I’m serious.” I tap the table for emphasis. “It’s wild to me that someone can just wake up and decide, yeah, today feels like a great day to own something that ends lives.”
Riot tilts his head. “You say that like the problem’s the gun.”
“It is part of the problem.”
Cyber lifts a finger without looking up from his phone. “Statistically, she’s not wrong.”
Every head swivels to him.
Bruiser squints. “You’re just saying that because you shoot like a blind grandma.”
Cyber doesn’t even blink. “I solve problems with keyboards and plausible deniability. My hands are for crimes you can’t see.”
“That was not the denial you think it was,” Riot says.
I laugh—real, startled, a little breathless. The sound loosens something in the room, pulls the tension down a notch.
Cole looks at me instantly, concern flaring before he hides it.
“I’m okay,” I murmur, already reading the question on his face.
“I know.” His thumb brushes my knee under the table anyway. “Still gonna worry. Deal with it.”
Ella squeezes my hand. “You scared the absolute shit out of us,” she says softly.
“I didn’t mean to,” I reply. “But… thank you. All of you.”
Doc snorts. “You did good. And for what it’s worth, that bullet picked a real bad place to vacation.”
“That is somehow the least comforting thing you could’ve said.”
Riot grins at Cole. “Told you she fits in. Trauma and sarcasm—perfect résumé.”
Cole’s arm tightens around my shoulders, solid and unapologetic. No one comments. No one needs to.
I look around the table again—at the rough edges, the busted knuckles, the faces that somehow turned into my people while I wasn’t paying attention.
This whole situation is batshit crazy.
But God help me—it feels like home.
Bruiser clears his throat, chair creaking as he leans back.
“On that note,” he says casually, “what are we gonna do about—”
Cole’s head snaps toward him.
It isn’t loud. He doesn’t even speak. Just a single, flat look.
Bruiser stops mid-sentence like someone hit mute.
The table goes tight in a way I can feel in my bones.
“About what?” I ask, glancing between them.
“Nope,” Neon says immediately. “Not my department.”
Ink suddenly finds something fascinating in his beer label. Riot scratches his jaw like he’s never heard English before in his life.
My stomach dips. “Okay, that was not suspicious at all.”
Cole’s hand slides from my shoulder to my back, warm and guiding. “We’ll talk about it later.”
“Later as in later-later, or later as in you’re about to herd me out of the room like a child?”
His mouth twitches despite himself. “The second one.”
“I’m right here,” I mutter. “With functioning ears.”
Bruiser gives me an apologetic grimace. “Didn’t mean to stir the pot.”
Cole shoots him another look—sharper this time.
“Right,” Bruiser adds. “Shutting the fuck up now.”
I narrow my eyes at all of them. “You realize that when everyone goes weird and silent, it makes it about a thousand times worse, right?”
Cyber leans over. “That’s actually true. Human brains fill gaps with worst-case scenarios. Statistically you’re now imagining at least three murders and a tax audit.”
“See?” I point at him. “Even the hacker agrees.”
Cole exhales and pushes his chair back. “Lex. Walk with me.”
“That is never a sentence that ends in something fun.”
“It can,” Neon offers. “Sometimes it ends in tacos.”
Riot snorts. “Not today it doesn’t.”
Great.
Cole stands and offers me his hand like we’re about to take a romantic stroll instead of whatever ominous mob-movie conversation this is. I take it anyway because apparently my survival instincts have unionized and decided to work part-time.
“Don’t finish any more dramatic sentences while I’m gone,” I tell the table.
Ink raises two fingers. “No promises.”
Cole guides me away before I can interrogate them further, his palm warm at my back again, steering me through the clubhouse toward the quieter hallway.
The second we’re out of earshot, I stop and turn to him.
“Okay. What the hell was that?”
He rubs a hand over his jaw, suddenly looking less unshakeable and more… careful.
“Bruiser has a talent for bringing up shit at the worst possible time.”
“Shit like what?”
His eyes search my face, measuring, deciding.
“Not out there,” he says finally. “We need to talk. Just you and me.”
A little knot forms in my chest. “O-kay.”
“I just don’t want an audience when we have this conversation.”
My brain supplies about twelve horrible possibilities in under three seconds.
“Am I getting kicked out?”
“No.” The answer is immediate. Firm.
His expression softens in that way that makes it very hard to breathe normally. “Come on.”
He nudges open a door at the end of the hall—an office. Quiet. Private. Safe.
My pulse picks up anyway.
Cole closes the door behind us with a soft click, leans against it for a second like he’s choosing his words.
And I get the very distinct feeling my life is about to tilt again.