–Damon–
She was unconscious, and I was running beside the gurney, clutching her hand as if I could anchor her to me, as if my grip alone could keep her alive. The doctor straddling her was already applying first aid, barking orders I couldn't comprehend. They stopped me halfway to the operating room, forcing my hand to slip away from hers.
A nurse intercepted me, her lips moving. Treated… treatment… Was she saying I needed to be treated? I didn't feel anything except the thunder of my own heartbeat.
"Sir," one of my men caught my arm, his voice urgent, almost pleading. "You need to get treated!"
I looked around, dazed, barely registering the nurse still at my side, or the doctor reaching toward me.
"Damon!" My brother's voice cut through the haze. He strode toward me, his face grim. "Damn it, get treated. I'll wait here for Liva."
