Chapter 36
Russ
The light above surgery turns yellow.
For one disoriented second, I just stare at it.
Then movement explodes behind the glass.
Doctors rushing.
Voices rising.
Sharp.
Urgent.
Cold dread crashes straight through me.
“That’s not good,” Miles mutters quietly.
No.
No, it isn’t.
I’m already moving before I realize it, crossing the hallway fast enough the chairs scrape beneath my boots.
Through the narrow window, I catch flashes—
Doctors crowding the table.
One climbing onto it.
Another shouting numbers I can’t hear through the glass.
Something just went wrong.
Something really wrong.
“Russ—”
I barely hear Miles.
My pulse pounds too hard.
The doors burst open suddenly.
A nurse rushes out carrying blood bags.
I catch her arm before she can pass.
“What’s happening?”
She startles hard. “Sir, let go—”
“What’s happening.”
Her eyes widen slightly.
“She’s crashing.”
The words hit like a bullet straight through my chest.
Everything inside me goes ice cold.
“What does that mean?”
“It means we’re trying to save her life. Now let go.”
I release her automatically.
She disappears back through the doors at a run.
And I’m left standing there uselessly while the doors slam shut again.
Helpless.
Absolutely helpless.
I pace once.
Twice.
Then slam my fist into the wall hard enough pain shoots up my arm.
“Damn it!”
I should be doing something.
Should be fixing this.
Instead I’m trapped outside while strangers fight to keep her alive.
Miles steps closer carefully. “Russ.”
“Don’t.”
“Listen to me—”
“I said don’t.”
The words come out raw enough they barely sound human.
Because if she dies—
No.
I crush the thought instantly before it can fully form.
Not happening.
She survived captivity.
Gunshots.
Blood loss.
Hell itself.
She is not dying on some operating table after all that.
Not Olivia.
Not her.
I brace both hands against the wall and lower my head for one second.
Just one.
Then I straighten again.
Because falling apart won’t help her.
Nothing helps her except staying right here.
Waiting.
The light flickers between yellow and red above the doors.
Every second stretches thinner.
Every breath feels like a countdown.
And for the first time since this whole nightmare started—
I’m not sure I can keep holding myself together.