30 - Aftershock

Aria POV

The world spun too fast.

Aria sprinted down the corridor, her pulse thundering louder than the pounding of Elias’s boots beside her. Kael led the way, cutting through the halls like a blade, his long strides urgent and controlled. Elias, frantic and pale, shouted half-sentences, voice raw with panic.

“He was near the eastern checkpoint—they brought him in just now—I saw—Aria, it’s bad—”

She couldn’t think. Couldn’t feel. Only move.

The moment they burst into the triage wing, the scent of blood hit her—sharp, metallic, unmistakably Finn. Her eyes snapped toward the gurney being pushed by two nurses, and there he was—her best friend—his golden hair matted with blood, his face too pale, too still.

“Finn!” she cried, rushing to his side.

The world narrowed to him. His chest rose shallowly, jagged breaths catching in his throat. His clothes soaked through, deep slashes across his abdomen and ribs. A jagged wound ran down his thigh, still bleeding heavily despite the pressure bandage.

“Move him to bed four!” Aria shouted. “I need gauze, clamps, and pressure packs now!”

The staff responded instantly. She pressed her hands to his side, trying to slow the blood, her fingers slick and trembling. “Stay with me, Finn,” she whispered. “Please.”

But Elias was breaking beside her.

“No, no, no—please,” he choked, trying to reach for Finn. His hands were shaking, his entire body in collapse.

Kael stepped in, strong and silent, wrapping an arm around Elias’s chest and pulling him back. “Let her work,” he said, his voice gravel and steel.

Aria barely heard them. She was locked in the rhythm of triage: applying pressure, checking vitals, barking orders.

Her father appeared at her side in the blur of it all, eyes sharp and assessing. “Aria—what happened?”

“He was ambushed. Multiple stab wounds. Bleeding from the left abdomen—might’ve nicked the liver. I can’t get it to stop.”

Aldric’s face hardened. “He needs surgery. Now.”

They moved quickly, lifting Finn onto a stretcher, wheeling him away.

Aria stood panting, covered in blood, heart pounding as Kael guided a weeping Elias behind them.

The waiting room was too quiet.

It had been hours.

Elias paced relentlessly, like a wolf trapped in a too-small cage. His eyes were red, his hands clenched. Kael sat nearby, a cup of coffee cooling untouched in his hand.

His broad shoulders were tense, his jaw rigid.

Aria walked in, her scrubs stained and wrinkled, exhaustion hanging off her like a second skin.

Elias stopped pacing the moment he saw her. “Is he—”

“He made it,” she said softly, her voice cracking.

Elias collapsed.

His legs gave out, and Kael dropped the coffee to catch him. Aria rushed forward, but Kael had him—held him tightly as Elias sobbed against his chest.

“It’s going to be okay,” Aria said gently. “He’s in recovery now. The surgery was long—his liver was torn and two ribs fractured, and there’s muscle damage in his leg. But he’s stable.”

Kael guided Elias to a nearby bench, helping him sit. Elias was barely holding himself together.

“He has a long road ahead,” Aria added, speaking more to Kael than to Elias now.

“But he’s strong. You both are.”

She swallowed back the lump in her throat. “I’ll give you two some time.”

Aria turned and walked out without waiting for an answer.

She made it three steps past the waiting room doors before the weight of it all hit her.

The shaking started in her hands, then her knees. She slid down the wall into a crouch, curling in on herself. Her hands pressed to her face, smearing blood she hadn’t noticed was still there.

And then the sobs came.

Quiet at first—sharp exhales, ragged with restraint. Then louder. Gut-wrenching. Weeks of holding it together for everyone else splintered in that moment.

She cried for Finn.

For Elias.

For every patient she couldn’t save, every child who looked at her like she held the moon in her hands, and for herself—for being tired, and overwhelmed, and scared. For the mate she didn’t understand, and the bond she couldn’t shake.

She didn’t hear the footsteps until Kael was there, crouching in front of her.

He didn’t speak.

He just knelt, gently brushing a strand of her hair from her face. His eyes, glowing faintly in the low light, were full of quiet intensity.

“I’m fine,” she rasped.

“You’re not.”

She shook her head. “I can’t—fall apart. Not yet.”

“You already are.” His voice wasn’t cruel. Just true.

Aria dropped her gaze. “He’s my best friend. He’s been there for me since we were kids. And I almost lost him tonight.”

Kael’s hand reached out, resting lightly on her knee. “But you didn’t.”

She let out a broken laugh. “He’s only alive because my father and I pulled him back from the edge. But what if next time… I’m too late?”

Kael shifted closer. “Then we pray there isn’t a next time.”

His voice was low, steady, anchoring.

Her eyes lifted to his. “Why do you keep finding me in the aftermath?”

He didn’t smile. But something in his gaze softened. “Because you keep standing in the fire.”

She blinked at him, startled by the way that sounded—like awe. Like truth.

A silence stretched between them. Not awkward. Just full.

Kael reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a clean cloth. Without a word, he reached out and gently wiped a smear of blood from her cheek. His knuckles brushed her skin. Her breath caught.

He didn’t say anything.

Didn’t have to.

“I don’t know what we’re doing,” she said quietly.

He looked at her. “Neither do I.”

But his hand stayed.

Her eyes closed for a heartbeat, then opened. “I should go clean up.”

“Then I’ll walk you.”

“No,” she said, gently. “Not tonight.”

Kael hesitated. Then nodded.

She stood slowly, brushing off her pants. His gaze followed her every movement.

Before she turned to go, she looked over her shoulder. “Thanks… for being here.”

“I always will be,” he said simply.

And somehow, Aria believed him.