Blue and red lights flashed across the broken warehouse walls.
Police sirens wailed through the empty night as officers flooded the scene.
Marcus Hale was shoved to the ground, face pressed into the dirt, wrists clamped in cold steel.
"Marcus Hale, you are under arrest for kidnapping, extortion, assault, and attempted murder,"
the officer barked.
Marcus didn't resist now—
the fight drained from him,
face twisted in rage and disbelief.
"This isn't over!" he screamed as they dragged him to the police car.
"You hear me? THIS ISN'T—"
The door slammed shut, cutting him off.
Jack was lifted carefully onto a stretcher.
His head lolled to the side,
eyes half-open, barely focused.
Bruises covered his jaw, neck, ribs.
Dried blood stained his shirt.
The boy walked beside him, holding onto the stretcher rail with trembling fingers.
"Jack… Jack, we're taking you to the hospital. You're safe now, okay?"
Jack didn't respond.
He blinked, slowly,
gaze distant—
as if he wasn't really seeing the world around him.
Lina hurried forward, tears streaming down her cheeks.
"Jack! Jack, please—look at me—it's me—Lina!"
Jack's eyes flickered toward her for a fraction of a second.
But nothing changed in his expression.
No warmth.
No recognition.
No relief.
Just emptiness.
Like he was slipping deeper inside himself.
Lina's voice broke.
"Jack… please say something…"
Still nothing.
Paramedics pushed his stretcher inside the ambulance.
Sally approached, hair messy, coat covered in dust, hands shaking though she tried to hide it.
"Jack," she whispered.
He didn't look at her.
He stared straight ahead, jaw clenched, breaths shallow.
Sally placed her hand on his arm.
"You're safe. You're with us. It's over."
Jack swallowed.
A slow, painful movement.
But his voice didn't come.
He didn't say a word.
He didn't even blink at her touch.
He was somewhere far away—
buried behind memories and guilt and pain.
The ambulance doors stayed open for a moment.
Lina stepped closer, voice trembling.
"Jack… I'm here. I'm really here."
Jack's eyes flickered.
Just slightly.
But instead of relief—
A single tear slid down his cheek.
Quiet.
Invisible almost.
But full of something deep and breaking.
The boy gasped.
"Jack…?"
Jack didn't look at him.
Didn't look at anyone.
He whispered—
barely audible, voice shaking:
"…I deserved it."
The words stabbed through the air like knives.
Lina covered her mouth and sobbed.
Sally's body stiffened, eyes widening in horror.
The boy shook his head violently.
"No… no you didn't—Jack, no—stop—"
But Jack's face twisted in pain,
not from his wounds,
but from something deeper.
He shut his eyes tightly,
as if trying to disappear.
The paramedic called out:
"We need to go!"
Sally nodded and stepped back.
The ambulance doors closed.
Jack lay there in silence,
hands trembling,
breath shaking,
eyes staring blankly at the ceiling.
No anger.
No fight.
No strength.
Just grief.
A crushing, suffocating grief
that no one could pull him out of yet.
The siren wailed.
Then the ambulance sped into the night,
carrying Jack
and his silent, breaking heart.
The ambulance doors burst open the moment they reached the hospital.
Jack was rushed down the hallway,
bright lights flashing above him in a blur.
His body didn't react.
His voice didn't rise.
His eyes didn't move.
He lay completely still—
a quiet figure drowning in his own darkness.
Lina, the boy, and Sally ran behind the paramedics.
Every step echoed like a heartbeat.
Every breath felt like it might break them.
Jack was wheeled into Trauma Room 3.
A doctor shouted commands:
"Vitals dropping—
Get me IV access—
Prepare oxygen—
We need scans on the ribs and head—
Move!"
The doors slammed shut.
And the world outside collapsed.
Lina stumbled backward until her back hit the wall.
Her legs gave out,
and she slid down to the floor, burying her face in her hands.
"This is my fault," she sobbed.
"All of it—every bit of it—
he came to see me—
he stayed because of me—
and now he's—he's—"
The boy knelt next to her.
"No, Lina—no—don't say that—"
But she shook her head violently.
"I told him to stay with me…
I kept him here…
If he had gone home—
if he hadn't been here—
he wouldn't have been taken—
he wouldn't be—like that."
Her voice cracked so hard it hurt just to hear.
Sally crouched in front of her, taking Lina's shaking hands in her own.
"Lina.
Look at me."
Lina lifted her face slowly.
Tears streamed down her cheeks.
"You didn't do this," Sally said firmly.
"Marcus did.
His men did.
His hatred did."
Lina shook her head.
"But he was bleeding… he was tied—he looked so—so broken—"
Her voice dissolved into sobs.
Sally pulled her into a tight embrace.
"It's okay to break," she whispered.
"But not to blame yourself."
Lina clung to her like she was drowning.
The boy turned away,
gripping the railing of the hallway until his knuckles turned white.
He stared at the closed trauma room doors.
Jack—
the unstoppable force,
the monster he'd once feared,
the one who had become something almost like a brother—
Jack had been so still.
So silent.
So empty.
"I… I can't lose him," the boy whispered, voice trembling.
"Not like this.
Please… not like this."
Tears fell from his eyes, splashing on the floor.
Images flashed in his mind:
Jack calming his panic attack.
Jack protecting him from his parents.
Jack whispering "You matter."
Jack protecting Lina with his life.
Jack saying "I love you" to her.
Jack collapsing into his arms.
His breath hitched violently.
"He doesn't deserve this…
He doesn't deserve to think he deserved that pain."
He covered his mouth, sobbing quietly.
"I should have been stronger…
I should have stopped him from going down that hall—
I should have done something—anything—"
Sally turned to him sharply.
"No," she said.
"You saved him."
He shook his head.
"I didn't—
I couldn't—
He was so broken—"
"You were there," Sally said gently.
"You reached him first.
He heard your voice.
He held your hand.
You kept him alive."
The boy looked up with red, swollen eyes.
"…Do you really think so?"
Sally's voice softened impossibly.
"I know so."
Sally stood, wiped her own eyes, and faced the trauma room doors.
Her expression changed.
It sharpened.
Hardened.
Like steel fired in a furnace.
She placed one hand on the door.
"Jack…" she whispered.
Behind the door, the doctors shouted:
"BP rising!"
"Pulse stabilizing!"
"He's responding!"
Sally exhaled shakily.
Then she made her vow.
"I won't let you disappear into that darkness again.
Not this time.
Not ever again."
Her hands curled into fists.
"You are not alone.
You don't get to throw yourself away.
Not after coming back to us."
Her voice was soft, but deadly serious.
"I will drag you out of this with my bare hands if I have to."
Lina and the boy looked at her—
stunned by the power in her voice.
Sally turned to them.
"We're not losing him."
They nodded, both trembling but determined.
"We won't," the boy whispered.
"We can't," Lina added, tears falling again.
The trauma room finally opened.
A doctor stepped outside, holding a clipboard.
His face was tired… but calm.
Lina's heart nearly stopped.
"Is he—? Is Jack—?"
The doctor raised a hand gently.
"He's alive."
Lina collapsed into tears.
The boy covered his face with his hands, shaking.
Sally let out a breath she had been holding for far too long.
"But," the doctor continued,
"he's extremely weak.
Emotionally exhausted.
He's refusing to talk.
He seems… detached."
Lina's tears slowed.
"What do you mean?"
The doctor sighed.
"He's conscious.
But he isn't responding.
Not to commands, nor to questions.
He's… withdrawn."
The boy whispered:
"Like he doesn't want to wake up…"
The doctor nodded sadly.
"Yes.
His body is healing.
But his mind… his heart…
is in a very dark place."
Lina stepped forward.
"Can we see him?"
The doctor hesitated.
"For a moment.
But please… be gentle."
Sally placed a hand on the door.
"We will."
Then they entered—
all three of them—
ready to face Jack
in whatever shattered state he was in.