56. Russ
Russ
Ipause just outside the trauma room.
Not because I need to.
Because I want to see.
Through the glass—
Hannah is still there.
Hasn’t moved.
Hasn’t stepped back.
Hasn’t even pretended to leave.
She’s standing at Clay’s side like she belongs there.
Like she’s the only thing holding him in place.
My gaze shifts to Clay.
Color’s better.
Breathing steady.
Still out—but not gone.
Good.
I push the door open quietly and step inside.
No one stops me.
No one even looks up.
Because the tension’s different now.
Not panic.
Not chaos.
Controlled.
Contained.
Won—for now.
Hannah doesn’t notice me at first.
She’s focused on Clay.
Watching him like she’s waiting for something.
Or someone.
“Status?” I ask.
Her head turns slightly.
Just enough to acknowledge me.
“Stable,” she says.
But her tone?
Still tight.
Still not satisfied.
“He’s not out of it yet,” she adds.
“I can see that.”
Silence stretches.
I take another step closer.
That’s when I notice—
She’s holding his hand.
Not loosely.
Not absentmindedly.
Firm.
Intentional.
And Clay—
Even half out of it—
Is holding on.
Yeah.
There it is.
I don’t say anything.
Don’t call it out.
Just file it away.
Because that’s not nothing.
Not even close.
“You should sit down,” I tell her.
She doesn’t move.
“I’m fine.”
That’s a lie.
We both know it.
She looks like hell.
Bruised.
Exhausted.
Barely holding it together physically—
But still standing.
Still fighting.
For him.
“Hannah,” I say, a little sharper now.
She finally looks at me fully.
And I see it.
That edge.
That stubborn refusal.
The same kind we see in the field.
The same kind Clay carries.
“I said I’m fine,” she repeats.
Yeah.
That tracks.
I exhale slowly.
“Alright,” I say. “Then don’t pass out on the floor.”
That almost earns me a reaction.
Almost.
Her attention shifts back to Clay.
Like I’m already dismissed.
I let it go.
Because honestly?
I get it.
I glance down at Clay again.
Then back at her.
“He’s lucky you’re here,” I say.
Her jaw tightens slightly.
“He’s alive because he got us out,” she replies.
Not wrong.
Not even a little.
“But he stayed up too long after that,” she adds, quieter now. “He shouldn’t have.”
There’s something under that.
Something personal.
Something that’s going to matter later.
I nod once.
“Yeah,” I say. “That’s also what we do.”
Her eyes flick to mine again.
And for a second—
There’s tension there.
Real tension.
Different from before.
Because she doesn’t agree with that.
Not really.
Good.
That’s going to be a problem.
I almost smile.
Because I can already see where this is headed.
And Clay?
He has no idea what’s coming for him.
“Get some rest when you can,” I tell her.
She doesn’t answer.
Doesn’t move.
Doesn’t let go of his hand.
Didn’t think so.
I turn and head for the door.
Because I’ve seen enough.
And because there’s someone else waiting for me.
But as I step out—
I glance back once more.
At Clay.
At Hannah.
At the way neither of them is letting go.
Yeah.
This isn’t over.
Not even close.
Clay
Dark.
But not as heavy this time.
Not pulling as hard.
Voices—
Quieter now.
Farther away.
Except—
One.
Closer.
Steady.
Familiar.
I focus on that.
Because that’s what I’ve got.
That’s what’s keeping me here.
My chest rises.
Easier this time.
Still hurts.
But not as bad.
Good sign.
Probably.
My hand—
There’s something there.
Warm.
Still there.
Hasn’t moved.
Didn’t leave.
That matters.
Don’t know why.
Don’t question it.
Just hold on.
My fingers tighten slightly.
Feels like pushing through concrete.
But I manage it.
Barely.
There’s a pause.
Then—
A shift.
Her.
Again.
Close.
Always close.
“Hey.”
Soft now.
Not sharp like before.
Different.
Better.
“You’re still with me.”
Yeah.
Still here.
Not going anywhere.
Not yet.
I try to open my eyes.
This time—
They cooperate.
A little.
Light hits hard.
Too bright.
Too much.
But I force it.
Because I want to see—
Her.
Blurred at first.
Then—
Clearer.
Hannah.
Standing over me.
Bruised.
Tired.
Still here.
Of course she is.
“Thought you were tougher than that,” she mutters.
There it is.
I almost smirk.
Almost.
“Got… bored,” I rasp.
Voice sounds like hell.
Feels worse.
Her eyes flash.
Annoyed.
Relieved.
Both.
“Yeah?” she shoots back. “Next time, try not getting yourself killed for entertainment.”
Next time.
Good.
That means she expects one.
I shift slightly.
Bad idea.
Pain flares.
Sharp enough to remind me exactly where I am.
“…kids?” I manage.
Her expression softens.
Just a fraction.
“Safe,” she says. “All of them.”
Good.
That’s—
Good.
My body relaxes slightly.
Didn’t even realize I was holding that.
My grip tightens around her hand again.
Stronger this time.
Intentional.
She doesn’t pull away.
Doesn’t even try.
“Rest,” she says, quieter now.
“Yeah,” I murmur.
But I don’t close my eyes yet.
Because she’s still there.
And for some reason—
That feels more important than it should.
“You didn’t leave,” I say, barely above a whisper.
Her jaw tightens.
“I had a job to do.”
That’s not the answer.
Not really.
I don’t push it.
Not now.
But I don’t let go either.
“Good,” I mutter.
Because it is.
Because—
Yeah.
That’s enough for now.
My eyes finally close.
Not falling.
Not fading.
Just—
Resting.
And the last thing I feel—
Before sleep takes over—
Is her hand still in mine.