Epilogue
Miles
I don’t remember falling asleep. That’s the first thing that bothers me. Usually, there’s some kind of warning before I lose consciousness. A moment where my body gives up before my mind does. A point where I know I’m slipping and can feel myself being dragged under.
This time, there’s nothing. Just a blank space. A missing piece of time that my brain keeps trying to fill in and failing. The memories that do come back don’t arrive in order. They’re scattered, broken pieces that cut through the fog before disappearing again.
Maddie’s face, the sound of her voice, the panic in her eyes, a hand grabbing for mine, gunshot, then darkness.
My eyes open slowly, but I don’t move right away.
Something feels wrong. The ceiling above me is unfamiliar.
White tiles, harsh lights, and a faint buzzing sound that I can’t place at first. I stare at it, trying to make sense of where I am, but my thoughts move slower than they should.
Like my brain is running through water. Then the pain catches up.
It starts somewhere in my side, a deep ache that spreads through my body until every breath reminds me something happened. My throat feels dry, my muscles feel heavy, and there’s a strange pressure against my skin that makes me feel trapped before I even know why.
I swallow, forcing myself to wake up completely.
I’m in the hospital.
The realization settles in slowly, the smell giving it away before anything else does. That sterile, chemical scent that clings to everything. The quiet beeping beside me, the uncomfortable mattress beneath my back.
I’m alive.
The thought should bring relief, but it doesn't. Instead, it brings fear, because the last thing I remember is not knowing if Maddie was.
I move before I can stop myself. The second I try to sit up, pain tears through my body so violently that I have to bite down to keep from making a sound.
My hand grips the sheets, my breathing turning uneven as I wait for it to pass.
Then I hear the clink of metal. It’s a small, unmistakable sound.
My eyes drop to the cuff circling my left wrist. For a few seconds, I just stare at it, my brain refusing to process what I’m seeing. They roam to my other hand to see the hospital bracelet, wires attached to my chest, and an IV taped into my hand.
“What the hell?” My voice comes out rough and broken, but before I can say anything else, a voice comes from across the room.
“You’re awake.”
The voice is completely unfamiliar. My eyes move toward the sound, and confusion immediately replaces the anger that had been building inside me.
A man is standing near the wall across from my bed, watching me.
He’s not wearing scrubs. There’s no hospital badge clipped to his shirt, no clipboard in his hand, no concerned expression that would suggest he’s someone who’s supposed to be here.
He looks like the exact opposite of someone who belongs in a hospital.
He’s tall. Bigger than most people I’ve met, even from across the room, and his entire appearance makes me question how I didn’t notice him the second I opened my eyes. He’s wearing rugged black clothes, tattoos covering nearly every inch of visible skin.
There’s no fear or nervousness in his eyes. No sense of uncertainty. He looks completely comfortable standing in my hospital room like he has every right to be here.
I stare at him for several seconds, waiting for recognition to hit. It doesn’t. I’ve never seen this man before in my life.
My eyes narrow. “Who the fuck are you?”
My voice comes out rough, but the question is sharper than anything else I’ve managed since waking up. The man doesn’t seem offended. If anything, he looks amused. He absolutely expected that to be my first question.
He pushes away from the wall but doesn’t come any closer, and I find myself studying him the same way he’s studying me, trying to figure out what the hell I’m looking at. Because there’s one thing I know for certain. This man isn’t here to check my vitals.
“I’ll answer that,” he says calmly. “But I think you should probably look around first.”
The quiet confidence in his voice settles over the room like something tangible, and I hate the way it immediately puts me on edge.
He isn’t threatening me or shouting. If anything, he sounds almost bored, like whatever game he’s playing has already been decided and I’m simply too far behind to realize it.
My jaw tightens as I drag my attention away from him, forcing myself to take in the rest of the room with eyes that finally feel awake enough to process what they’re seeing.
At first, all I notice are the things I’d expect to find in any hospital room.
The steady rhythm of the heart monitor beside my bed.
The IV hanging from a metal stand. White walls filled with cabinets and medical equipment.
Sunlight filters weakly through a partially opened set of blinds, washing everything in a pale glow that somehow makes the room feel even colder.
Then my eyes travel farther, landing near the window, and every coherent thought inside my head evaporates.
Two wooden chairs have been placed against the far wall.
Neither of them are empty.
My uncle is slumped in the first chair, his wrists bound tightly behind the backrest with thick black restraints that cut into the sleeves of his shirt. Leather straps wrap around his chest and thighs, pinning him so securely that even if he wanted to move, he couldn’t.
His face is a swollen mess of bruises and dried blood, one eye nearly swollen shut beneath the damage that’s been done to him, while a dark cloth has been shoved between his teeth and tied brutally behind his head.
His breathing comes in frantic bursts through his nose, every muscle in his body straining uselessly against the restraints as his terrified eyes lock onto mine.
A man dressed entirely in black stands behind him with one hand resting casually on the back of the chair. The other holds a pistol fitted with a suppressor. The barrel is pressed so firmly against Benny’s temple that it leaves a pale indentation against his skin.
Then blood drains from my face.
Maddie.
Every breath leaves my lungs so violently that it feels like I’ve been punched straight through the chest. She’s restrained exactly the same way.
Her wrists are secured behind the chair, thick leather straps binding her chest and legs so tightly that I can see her trembling despite how completely she’s immobilized.
A black cloth has been forced into her mouth, muffling the sobs that continue spilling past it, tears streaming endlessly down her bruised cheeks as strands of copper curled hair cling to her damp skin.
Her amber eyes find mine almost instantly, and whatever composure she’d been desperately trying to hold together shatters the second she realizes I’m awake.
She begins shaking her head over and over again, frantic cries trapped uselessly behind the gag while another man presses the muzzle of a suppressed handgun against the side of her head with terrifying indifference.
My entire body reacts before my mind has the chance to.
Pain explodes through my ribs as I throw myself upright, every instinct demanding that I get to her, that I tear through every person standing between us and get her the hell out of this room.
I barely make it halfway off the mattress before something jerks me violently backward.
A sharp metallic crack echoes through the room as the handcuff secured around my right wrist snaps tight, ripping my arm sideways until agony shoots through my shoulder.
I grit my teeth against the pain and pull harder anyway, the entire hospital bed groaning beneath the force as the chain digs mercilessly into my skin.
“Get the fuck away from her!”
My voice tears through the room raw and broken, but nobody moves.
Maddie’s eyes squeeze shut as another muffled sob escapes into the gag, her entire body shaking so violently that the chair rattles against the floor beneath her.
Benny isn’t much different. He thrashes as much as the restraints allow, making desperate, incoherent sounds behind the cloth stuffed into his mouth, his gaze darting wildly between me and the man standing behind him as though he’s trying to warn me about something I’ll never be able to understand.
The stranger near my bed watches the entire scene unfold without the slightest hint of concern.
He doesn't rush to calm me down. He doesn’t bark orders at the men holding the guns.
He simply slips both hands into the pockets of his black jeans and studies me with the same detached curiosity someone might reserve for a work of art hanging in a gallery.
“I’ve spent years trying to find Benjamin Thornton,” he says, his voice remaining infuriatingly calm despite the chaos swallowing the room.
“Years chasing whispers, burned safe houses, abandoned accounts, and bodies left behind by a man who always seemed to know I was coming before I arrived. Every lead I followed ended exactly the same way. He disappeared, and I was left cleaning up another trail that had already gone cold.”
My breathing is uneven, every inhale scraping against the damage hidden beneath the bandages wrapped around my torso, but I don’t take my eyes off Maddie.
“If you touch her, I'll fucking kill you.”
A smile ghosts across his face. It’s small, almost amused. “You’ll have to forgive me if I don’t find that particularly convincing.”
His gaze drifts toward the handcuff attached to my wrist before returning to my face, reminding me just how helpless I really am.
“I’ll admit, though…” he continues, taking an unhurried step farther into the room.
“Benjamin exceeded even my expectations. Slimy little motherfucker had a habit of slipping through my fingers every single time I got close enough to wrap a hand around his throat. After a while, I almost started respecting him for it.”