Chapter Twenty-four Amethyst
When I open my eyes again all I see is white.
Everything is white. Ceiling. Walls. The light is too bright.
My eyes hurt. I blink. Again. The light doesn’t change.
Where am I? The thought is slow. Sluggish.
Like moving through water. My mouth is dry.
Throat. Parched. I try to swallow. Can’t.
There’s something in my arm. Tugging. Pulling.
I look down. IV. Clear tube. Fluid dripping. Slow. Steady.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
The sound registers. Heart monitor. I’m in a hospital. No. Not a hospital. The Raven’s facility. Medical wing. The realization comes slowly. Pieces clicking into place.
The extraction.
The van.
Kade.
Blood.
His blood.
My blood.
Mixed.
On my hands.
My eyes snap open. Really open. The room comes into focus. Sterile. Clinical. Machines surrounding the bed. IV stand. Heart monitor. Oxygen. Bandages.
I’m covered in them. My chest. My arms. My legs. White gauze. Stained with blood. Old blood. Dried. How long have I been here? I try to sit up. Pain. Immediate. Sharp. Radiating from my ribs. My abdomen. My shoulders. Enzo’s cuts. The knife. The interrogation.
It all comes back. The torture. The blood. The desperation. And then—
Kade. Shot. Falling. Pale. Unconscious. Where is he? Is he alive? The panic hits. Hard. Sudden. Like a fist to the chest. I need to find him.
Now.
I reach for the IV. The IV is taped to my inner elbow.
I grab the tape. Pull. It stings. Sharp.
Burning. The tubing slides out. Blood wells up.
A small bead. Red. I don’t care. The heart monitor.
Clip on my finger. I yank it off. The beeping stops.
Silence. Sudden. Loud. My breathing is ragged. Panicked.
I swing my legs over the side of the bed.
The room tilts. Spins. I grip the mattress.
Wait for it to settle. My legs are weak.
Shaking. I haven’t stood in— How long? I don’t know.
I push myself up. My body screams. Every muscle.
Every nerve. Protesting. The cuts on my torso pull. Sting. The bruises throb. Deep. Aching.
I’m unsteady. Swaying. But I’m standing.
I’m up. The room is still spinning. But I’m moving.
Toward the door. My legs are weak. Uncoordinated.
Like they don’t belong to me. I shuffle.
One foot. Then the other. The IV stand is next to the bed.
I grab it and Use it for balance. It rolls with me.
Squeaking. Protesting. I reach the door.
My hand is shaking. I grip the handle. Pull. It opens.
A hallway. White. Sterile. Fluorescent lights. Humming. Which way? I don’t know. I pick a direction. Left. I move. Slowly. Carefully. My body is screaming. Begging me to stop. To go back. To rest. I ignore it. Kade. I need to find Kade.
The hallway is empty. Quiet. Where is everyone?
How long have I been unconscious? I pass a window.
Look out. Night. Dark. Stars. I have no idea what time it is.
What day it is. I keep moving. The IV stand squeaks.
And Squeaks. And Squeaks. Starting to drive my frayed nerves into overdrive.
My breathing is loud. Ragged. I’m weak. So weak.
My vision is starting to blur. No. Not now.
I push forward. There’s a door ahead. Closed.
I reach it. Try the handle. Locked. I move past it.
Another door. This one is open. I peer inside.
Another room. Empty. Bed. Machines. But no one inside.
I keep going. My legs are barely holding me up. The pain is getting worse. Not better. The cuts are bleeding. I can feel it. Warm. Seeping through the bandages. I don’t care. Kade.
Where is he?
Alive or dead?
I need the answer.
Another door. This one is open. I look inside. A figure. In the bed. Pale. Still. My heart stops. No. No no no. I move closer. Slowly. Carefully. The figure is male. But the face is wrong.
Not Kade.
One of the operatives. I don’t recognize him. I back out. Keep moving.
The hallway seems to go on forever. My legs are shaking.
Trembling. I’m not going to make it. I’m going to collapse.
But I can’t. Not yet. Not until I find him.
Another door. I open it. A larger room. More beds.
More machines. And there. In the corner.
A figure. Bandaged. Pale. Chest rising. Falling.
Rising. Falling. I slowly step forward closer to the bed.
Kade.
It’s Kade.
He’s breathing. He’s alive. I move toward him.
Needing to be closer. Needing to touch him.
To feel his warmth. My legs give out. I stumble.
Catch myself on the bed frame. My vision is blurring.
Darkening. No. Not now. I reach out. Touch his arm.
Warm. He’s warm. Alive. The relief is so intense.
So overwhelming. It crashes through me. And the darkness.
It takes me.
Again.
I wake gasping. Panic. Immediate. My eyes snap open. The white ceiling.
Again.
The machines.
Again.
The bed.
Again.
No. No no no. I groan. Frustrated. Angry.
I was there. I found him. And now I’m back here.
Trapped. I push myself up. My ribs scream.
Sharp. Burning. I ignore it. Sit up. The room tilts.
Spins. I grip the mattress. Wait for it to settle.
My breathing is ragged. Panicked. I need to get back. Need to—
“You collapsed."
I freeze. The voice. Calm. Matter-of-fact. I turn my head. The Raven. Sitting in a chair. In the corner. Watching me. How long has she been there?
“I went to check on your progress," she continues. “Your bed was empty."
She stands. Walks closer. Her movements are fluid. Controlled.
“So I went looking." She stops at the foot of my bed. “Found you on the floor. Next to his bed. Unconscious."
I don’t respond. Can’t. My throat is dry. My mind is racing.
“You’ve lost a significant amount of blood," she says. “Your body is in shock. Pushing yourself like that—"
“I don’t care," I say. My voice is hoarse. Broken. “Is he alive?"
She tilts her head. Studying me.
“Yes."
The tension leaves me so suddenly it almost hurts. Alive.
He’s alive.
The knot wrapped around my lungs loosens for the first time since I saw him drop.
“Will he be okay?" I ask. “Will he survive?"
My voice is steady. Barely.
The answer matters more than the pain. More than the blood loss. More than anything.
The Raven is quiet for a moment.
“The bullet went through his vest. Punctured his lung. Caused significant internal bleeding."
My stomach drops. “But?" I push. “There’s a but."
“But," she says, “we got him here in time. Surgery was successful. The bleeding is controlled. His vitals are stable."
Stable. He’s stable.
“He’s not awake yet," she continues. “The anesthesia is still in his system. But barring infection or complications, he should recover."
Should. Not will. Should. But it’s something. It’s hope.
“You need to rest," the Raven says. “Both of you need time to heal. You won’t be any good to him if you kill yourself trying to get to him."
I want to argue. Want to fight. But my body is already betraying me. The exhaustion is creeping back in. The pain is getting worse. Not better.
“He’s in the room next to yours," she says. “I’ll have someone move you when you’re both stable enough. For now, you rest."
She walks toward the door.
“Raven," I call out.
My voice is weak. Desperate. She pauses. Turns back.
“Thank you," I say.
“You saved him.”
Raven pauses.
“Yes.”
I nod once. That’s all I’ve got. Because thank you doesn’t seem big enough.
“But you need to understand something, Amethyst. You’re are not alone. You have a family. As unconventional it might be, you and Kade, are one of us. And that makes you family."
She leaves. The door closes. Silence. I’m alone again. But Kade is alive. He’s in the next room. Breathing. Healing. And I’m going to get to him. As soon as I can move. As soon as my body stops betraying me. I close my eyes. And I wait.
The following day, They move me. Finally. The Raven’s people came. Wheelchair. I didn’t argue. Couldn’t walk anyway. My legs are weak. Shaking. Everything hurts. But I don’t care. Because now I’m here. In his room.
Kade’s room. He’s in the bed. Still. So still. Pale. The heart monitor beeps. Steady. Rhythmic. Proof. That He’s alive. His chest rises. Falls. Rises. Falls.
Breathing on his own. No ventilator. That’s good.
The Raven said that’s good. IV drip in his left arm. Clear fluid. Antibiotics, she said. Pain medication. Fluids. Bandages across his chest. White. Clean. Changed regularly. The bullet wound. Punctured lung. Internal bleeding. Surgery.
He survived surgery. He’s stable. But he hasn’t woken up. Not once. I’m in a chair. Next to his bed. Close. As close as I can get.
My hand reaches out. Touches his.
Warm.
Not cold.
Not gone.
Proof.
Tangible proof.
Because if I stop touching him, part of me is afraid I’ll wake up and discover none of this is real.
I wrap my fingers around his. Gently. Carefully.
“Hey," I say.
My voice is hoarse. Broken.
“It’s me."
The monitor beeps. Steady. Unchanged.
“I’m here," I continue. “I’m right here."
Nothing. No response. No movement. Just the beeping. Just his breathing. I squeeze his hand. Soft.
“You need to wake up," I whisper. “Please."
A couple hours later and I’m still here.
Haven’t moved. Can’t move. Won’t move. My ribs ache.
Sharp. Burning. The cuts on my arms. My legs.
My collarbone. All healing. Slowly. But I ignore them.
Focus on him. On his face. Pale. Peaceful.
Like he’s sleeping. Before he came to get me out of there, I imagine he wasn’t sleeping well.
We didn’t get the chance to talk about what he had been up to.
And now, now hes just sleeping. Not— “His vitals are good. "
The Raven. Standing in the doorway. I didn’t hear her come in.
“Heart rate is steady," she continues. “Blood pressure is normal. Oxygen levels are excellent."
She walks closer. Stops at the foot of the bed.
“He’s healing," she says.