ALEXANDER
I’ve faced wars. I’ve faced death.
But nothing, terrifies me like the sound of her heart monitor slowing.
The room is chaos around me—doctors shouting orders, the metallic scent of blood thick in the air—but all I can see is her.
Emmaline.
She’s pale. Too pale. Her lips tremble, her skin slick with sweat. The sheets beneath her are soaked crimson, and no matter how hard I try to stay calm, the sight of it rips something out of me.
“Keep her pressure up!” the doctor shouts. “She’s still bleeding, someone get more fluids, now!”
I can’t move. My hand is still gripping hers, even as they work frantically around her. Her fingers twitch weakly in mine, as though she’s trying to hold on.
“Emmaline,” I whisper, leaning closer. “Hey, look at me.”
Her eyes flutter open for a secon
