The elevator doors open with a soft ding, and I step into the fourth floor of St. Julian's, clutching a lukewarm cup of coffee that I've barely touched.
The halls are too quiet. The kind of quiet that makes you hold your breath. Nurses move like ghosts, and the fluorescent lights hum just loud enough to make you feel like you're not alone, even when you are.
I hadn't planned on visiting Dad this early. But after yesterday—after that guy, Killian Lancaster, just showed up—I couldn't sleep. I tossed all night, thinking about his words. The way he looked at me like he knew me. The way my father had kept something—no, a lot of things—from me.
So here I am. Ready for answers.
I step into my father's hospital room. He's awake this time, sitting up straighter, wearing his scowl like armor.
"You look like shit," I say, dropping into the chair beside his bed.
He snorts. "You get that from me."
I set the coffee down on the table beside him, crossing my arms.
"So," I begin. "You sent a Lancaster after me."
He grunts.
"I thought we weren't getting involved with that side of the business."
"We weren't," he says. "But things change."
"Because of a heart attack?"
"Because people are watching us now," he replies, voice low. "They smell weakness. I didn't want you involved. You know that. But I'm out of time, Everett."
I swallow the lump building in my throat.
"You don't get to decide when I get dragged into this."
"Yes, I do," he says with finality. "Because you're not ready."
I shoot up from the chair, pacing across the room. "Then make me ready! Stop lying! Stop hiding everything! If you're going to throw me in the fire, at least tell me what I'm walking into!"
He doesn't respond. He just watches me, jaw tight. His breathing is steady, but there's a tension there that's been growing ever since I walked in. His hand is twitching against the blanket like he's waiting for something.
And that's when it happens.
Bang. Bang.
The unmistakable sound of gunfire. Muffled, but close. Too close.
My entire body freezes. For a moment, my mind goes blank—refusing to process it.
Then my father moves faster than I've seen him move in days.
"Get down!" he barks.
I stumble back from the window, heart in my throat.
Down the hall, voices are shouting—chaotic, panicked. A nurse screams. The hospital's overhead system blurts out static and then silence.
"What the hell is happening?" I whisper, backing toward the door.
My father swings his legs over the side of the bed, IV still trailing from his arm. He's on his feet.
"They're here," he hisses. "They followed you."
"I didn't—!"
The door slams open.
Killian storms in, black coat drenched from the rain outside, gun already drawn and eyes like fire. There's blood on his sleeve. Someone else's, I think.
He doesn't hesitate.
"Take him!" my father barks, pointing straight at me.
"Wait—what?" I shout.
Killian doesn't waste a second. He crosses the room in three long strides and grabs me around the waist like I weigh nothing.
"No! What the hell are you doing—Put me down!"
"Everett," he growls, "shut up and hold on."
I twist in his grip, clawing at his arms, kicking, trying to dig my heels into the floor as he hauls me toward the door.
"NO!" I scream, grabbing the edge of the bed table, yanking it down in my struggle. "Dad! DAD!"
My hands scrape across the doorframe as Killian drags me out into the hallway. I cling to the edge like it's a lifeline, digging my nails into the paint.
"DON'T MAKE ME LEAVE HIM!"
"Everett—MOVE!"
"NOO—DAD! DAD!"
My father shouts something behind us—but I can't hear it through the ringing in my ears.
Tears blur my vision as I watch him disappear from sight, still standing in his hospital gown like a goddamn titan refusing to fall.
Killian jerks me loose from the frame and slams the door behind us just as another gunshot cracks through the air.
He pulls me into a side stairwell, pushing me against the wall as he checks the hallway. His body shields mine completely.
I'm panting, throat raw, chest heaving.
"You said you were here to protect me," I gasp. "Not—not kidnap me!"
"This is protecting you," he says through gritted teeth. "Now run."
"I'm not leaving him behind—!"
"You have no idea what's coming, Everett. But I do. So unless you want to see your father's blood on the floor of this hospital, you're going to move your damn feet and trust me."
I stare at him, shaking, torn between rage and terror.
My father. The gunfire. The man in front of me who I barely know but who's dragging me away like he's done this a hundred times.
My legs move before my brain can catch up.
We take the stairs.
Down.
Down.
Down.
And as we run, all I can think is—
This is real now.
My world isn't normal anymore.
And I don't know if I'll ever see my father again.