Compressions were no use, they only hastened the grim reapers' claim.

Crimson pools of blood swallowed the room, thick and viscous, as if the walls themselves were bleeding out with her. It seeped from her lifeless body, consuming the floor in a dark, ravenous tide. Her once-vibrant eyes, those eyes that could ignite entire worlds, were now glazed with the cold finality of death. Her lips, pale and motionless, were stained a ghostly pink. I sat there, frozen in horror, my world collapsing, splintering into fragments of raw, unbearable agony.

A sound ripped from me—some unholy scream, guttural and primal, as if my very soul had torn itself apart trying to escape this reality. She was slipping away, and I was powerless, paralyzed in my despair. Every breath she lost was a knife to my heart, carving deeper and deeper. My hands, shaking uncontrollably, pressed towels against her broken flesh, but the blood... it wouldn't stop. It flowed, endless, devouring everything in its path, baptizing us both in crimson. 

The thick stench of iron hung in the air, suffocating, drowning out the remnants of life. I'd once loved the scent of death but not hers, never hers...

I knew I had to move, but moving meant letting her bleed, meant loosening my grip on the last fragile thread that tethered her to this world. I was trapped between action and terror, and inside me, a war raged, tearing me apart as I watched her life spill out in front of me. My chest heaved with silent sobs.

With a sudden desperation, I released the pressure from her wounds and scooped her frail, broken body into my arms. Her limbs hung limp, lifeless, and I felt the cold creeping through her skin, seeping into mine like the death that claimed her was crawling toward me, too.

I burst into the foyer, my voice raw and desperate as I screamed for Silas. My feet left dark, glistening trails behind me, marking our path in blood. The house, vast and indifferent, seemed to swallow my cries, the walls mocking me with their silence. 

And then, out of the suffocating stillness, Silas appeared. His eyes, wide and filled with horror, locked onto the lifeless form I cradled in my arms.

"Get her to the infirmary! Now!" His voice was a thunderous roar as he ripped his phone from his pocket, dialling for the on-call doctor. We moved though the house but all I could see was her, all I could feel was the cold weight of her in my arms. Her blood soaked into my clothes, my skin, branding me with the evidence of my failure.

The infirmary came into view—cold, clinical. I laid her down on the steel table, my hands trembling, begging whatever Gods or devils might be listening to spare her. But she lay there, still, her chest barely moving. The nurses swarmed, their hands moving like blurs as they packed her wounds, trying to stop the blood that poured from her like an endless torrent.

Silas didn't hesitate—his hands moved quickly, inserting the cannula, hooking up fluids in a desperate attempt to replace what she had lost. But it wasn't enough. Nothing was enough. His eyes met mine for a brief moment, fear flickering in their depths. "She's not dying today, Alaric," he whispered, more to himself than to me. "Not her. Lost one brother, not going to watch another one die."

Then Henry pushed through the doors, his presence welcomed despite the stone-faced expression he wore.

Without a word, he took control, his hands moving with practised precision. "Artery forceps! Monosyn sutures!" he barked, clamping one severed artery after another. "She's going to need blood—check her type and get O-negative prepped!" His voice was steady, but I could hear the undercurrent of urgency, the desperation he tried to bury beneath his professionalism. 

His hands moved faster than I thought humanly possible, stitching, clamping, fighting against time. His time and hers because if she left this world, so would I... but not before I destroyed everything and everyone in my path. 

"We need Gia!" Henry snapped, his brow furrowed in frustration. "She's the only one who can help with this."

"She's a fucking traitor," Silas muttered darkly, his voice laced with frustration.

Henry's eyes flickered with something dark and final. "I don't care. We need her now."

Moments later, Gia appeared in the doorway, her hands cuffed, her eyes burning with rage. "Don't start your shit, fucking help or end up six feet under," Silas growled, his voice ice-cold, leaving no room for argument.

"Fuck you," she hissed, but she moved to Henry's side, her hands already reaching for the sutures. The chains on her cuffs clinked mockingly, like death laughing in the shadows. Silas cursed under his breath and motioned for one of the guards to unlock her. 

The moment her hands were free, Gia's fingers worked in a furious blur, stitching almost as fast as Henry, their movements synchronized in a grim ballet. I prayed it would be enough.

The nurses had isolated Vaela's blood type and were already switching the saline for blood, but the monitor's relentless red glow warned us it wasn't working. Her heart rate dropped, the numbers a countdown to the moment she would slip beyond our reach.

I couldn't tear my eyes from her face. The world around me blurred into nothing—there was only Vaela. I cupped her cold cheeks, my fingers tracing the lines of her jaw, silently begging her to fight. But with each passing second, I felt her slipping further and further away.

Thirty-two.

Twenty-seven.

Nineteen.

"It's not working," I choked out, my voice hollow, broken. "It's not enough—nothing's fucking working!" Rage and despair warred inside me, twisting into something dark and monstrous. "Can't lose her..."

Then came the flatline. A single, shrill beep that shattered what was left of me.

Everything around me went black. I couldn't hear, couldn't see, couldn't breathe. All I felt was the gaping, soul-crushing emptiness where she should have been. Voices floated around me, but they were distant, muffled, as though I were underwater. Henry's face blurred into view, his expression tight with grim knowing.

"Compressions! Get the AED! We need rhythm, now!"

Silas's hands pressed into her chest, his movements desperate and frantic. "Breathe into her!" he barked at me, his voice rough and panicked. For the first time, I saw him lose control. My brother, who never let anything shake him, who had grieved in silence when we lost our brother—now, he was frantic, terrified.

"Alaric, now!" he shouted again, snapping me back to reality.

I leaned over her, my lips trembling as I pressed them against hers, breathing into her lifeless mouth. 

Once. 

Twice. 

Then I shoved Silas aside, my own hands pressing into her chest, forcing her heart to beat. Thirty compressions. Two breaths. The rhythm became mechanical, my mind a dark void, consumed by the single, all-consuming need to bring her back.

"Clear!" Henry shouted. I pulled back as he sent a shock through her body, her limbs jerking violently before falling limp again. Nothing. I was back on her, pressing into her chest, harder, faster, refusing to let go.

"Again!" I roared. "Do it again!"

"Alaric..." Henry started, his voice soft, hesitant.

"Again!" I bellowed, my voice cracking with desperation.

He shocked her again. And again.

Then, a flicker.

The line jumped, a faint blip of life. The monitor's angry scream faltered, replaced by a weak, hesitant rhythm.

Sixteen.

Twenty.

"Get another bag of blood," Henry ordered his voice tight with the strain of hope. "We need more."

The monitor's line stuttered, but it held. I sagged against the table, my breath coming in ragged gasps as I watched the numbers climb.

Thirty-five.

Fourty.

The air in the room shifted, the tension easing ever so slightly. The nurses worked quietly around us, their faces masked with professional detachment, but I could feel the weight of the moment pressing down on all of us.

Henry placed a hand on my shoulder, his grip firm but gentle. "She's fighting, Alaric," he murmured. "She's still in this."

I nodded, my throat too tight to form words. Gia and Henry finished up with her wounds and moved her to one of the more comfortable beds.  Then the room began to clear, nurses moving in and out, hooking Vaela up to more machines, more lines, more blood. 

But none of it mattered. All that mattered was her. All I could see, all I could feel, was the faint pulse under my fingertips as I pressed my hand to her wrist.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, my voice breaking. "I'm so fucking sorry. I didn't mean it, baby. I swear, even the devil knows I didn't mean it. I'll chase you forever if I have to—hell, even in death, I'll follow you."

Her heartbeat stuttered beneath my fingertips, faint but present, a fragile echo of the life I thought I'd lost forever. I pressed my forehead to her cold, clammy skin, trembling as tears spilled from my eyes, streaking my blood-smeared face. My body felt numb, and drained, as if every ounce of my strength had bled out with her. 

Yet I held on for both of us, as though by sheer willpower I could anchor her to this world, could stop her from slipping away again. "Don't leave me," I whispered against her skin, my voice trembling with the weight of my fear. "Please, Vaela, don't fucking leave me."

The room was too quiet, save for the steady beep of the monitor, a sound that was both a relief and a torment. It reminded me how close I'd come to losing her—how easily the rhythm could falter again. I tightened my grip on her wrist, desperate to keep feeling that small but defiant pulse beneath her skin.

"She's stable for now." Henry's voice broke through the fog that surrounded me, his tone low and measured. He was always calm, always composed, even when we were on the edge of disaster. But I could see it in his eyes, the fear he tried so hard to hide. He wasn't certain. No one was.

"For now," I repeated hollowly, the words catching in my throat. They hung in the air like a cruel promise, a reminder that this could still end in the worst possible way.

Silas stood at the edge of the room, his jaw clenched so tight it looked like it might shatter. His eyes were locked on Vaela, dark and unreadable, but I could see the storm brewing behind them. He hadn't spoken since we'd managed to get her heart beating again. The silence between us was suffocating, filled with the weight of everything that had just happened, everything that still could.

"These next twenty-four hours are crucial," Henry said, his voice tight. "She'll be under constant monitoring."

I forced myself to nod.

This wasn't supposed to happen. She wasn't supposed to be here like this, not her.

I moved to the side of the bed, my knees buckling as I sank into the chair beside her. Her face was pale, almost translucent, her lips barely tinged with colour. The only sign of life was the slow, steady rise and fall of her chest, the sound of the machines doing the breathing for her.

I reached out and retook her hand, my fingers intertwining with hers, clinging to the warmth that was still there, no matter how faint. She felt so small, so fragile, like she could slip away at any moment.

"She'll make it through this," Silas said, his voice low and hard. He hadn't moved from the doorway, his eyes still locked on Vaela, but there was an edge to his words, a defiance that mirrored my own. "She has to."

"Yeah, she has to. A world without her isn't worth living in," I confirmed, my voice rough with exhaustion and something darker—something I couldn't name. 

"She will," he repeated, more to himself than to me. His jaw hardened, the muscles ticking under his skin. 

For a long time, neither of us spoke. There was too much to say, too much to leave unspoken. The silence between us wasn't just about Vaela; it was about the history, the blood, the scars that ran so deep between us all.

"I did this to her," I muttered, my voice barely a whisper. "She's seen more hell than the two of us, Silas and I fucking walked out on her... Knew damn well her mind was broken and I went and threw a fucking hammer against it... I did this."

"Alaric, you've done nothing but protect her," Silas said softly, his voice low but filled with an understanding I hadn't expected. "You did not do this. You're human and you're hurting too."

"I won't let this happen again," I growled, a vicious resolve settled inside. "I don't care what I have to do—who I have to destroy— even myself. She'll never suffer like this again..."

* * *

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Love you,

J.