36. Sienna
Sienna
T ime stops making sense after the surgery doors close.
The clock on the wall keeps moving.
I watch the second hand drag itself forward again and again and somehow it still feels like nothing changes.
Every sound inside the safehouse gets louder the longer I sit here.
Footsteps.
Voices.
Medical equipment rolling down the hallway.
Every noise sharp enough to scrape against my nerves.
I start pacing without realizing it.
Three steps one direction.
Turn.
Three steps back.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Ronan catches my arm on the fourth pass.
“Sit down.”
“No.”
“You’re wearing a hole in the floor.”
“I don’t care.”
I try pulling free.
He doesn’t let go immediately.
“You’re not helping him like this.”
That stops me.
Not because I agree.
Because the words hurt.
I finally look at him fully.
Really look.
He’s exhausted.
Blood donation bandage still wrapped around his arm.
Dirt streaked across his jaw.
But he’s steady anyway.
Grounded in a way I can’t seem to be anymore.
“What if he dies?”
The question breaks apart coming out.
I don’t even care.
My throat burns too much to pretend otherwise.
“What if I did all of this…”
I swallow hard.
“…and he dies anyway?”
Ronan goes quiet.
Because there isn’t a good answer.
No tactical reassurance.
No logical response.
Just silence stretching between us while the surgical doors stay shut.
Finally he exhales slowly.
“Then we deal with it.”
I shake my head immediately.
“No.”
Because I won’t survive that.
Not after this.
Not after him.
My chest tightens painfully.
“I should’ve never let him in,” I whisper.
The confession slips out before I can stop it.
“He wasn’t supposed to matter.”
Ronan leans back against the wall beside me.
“Yeah,” he says dryly. “That plan didn’t exactly hold together.”
A broken laugh escapes me before I can stop it.
Wet.
Shaky.
“Worst plan I’ve ever made.”
“Debatable.”
That almost pulls me back to myself.
Almost.
Then the surgical doors open.
Everything inside me locks instantly.
The medic steps into the hallway pulling off bloody gloves.
I’m on my feet before he fully clears the doorway.
“Well?”
He hesitates.
Only for a second.
Still long enough to nearly stop my heart.
“He made it through surgery.”
Air rushes violently from my lungs.
Sharp enough it hurts.
Relief crashes into me so hard my knees nearly weaken.
But then—
The pause afterward.
The one I was already expecting.
“But?”
The medic’s expression tightens slightly.
“He’s not out of danger yet.”
Of course he isn’t.
Nothing about Jonah was ever going to be easy.
“He lost a significant amount of blood,” the medic continues. “Next twelve hours are critical.”
Twelve hours.
The number lands like a sentence.
An eternity.
“Can I see him?”
My voice sounds smaller now.
The medic studies me for a second before nodding once.
“Briefly.”
That’s all I need.
Because if Jonah’s still breathing in there—
Then so am I.