Page 75 of Faith Among Monsters

Good. That part’s ready.

“Got it,” Wilkes grunts before I can connect the line or think about putting a line in Dax.

I flick my eyes up just as he pulls the misshapen, bloody bullet from Dax’s shoulder. He tosses it onto a metal tray with a sickening clatter.

That’s not the worst of it.

Dax isn’t moving.

Zachs presses harder on the wound, gauze soaked through in seconds. “You know how to stitch this up?”

I nod, already reaching for the suture kit. “We have to slow the bleeding first.”

Zachs applies more pressure, but even through the gauze, too much blood seeps out. Too fast.

Shit.

I grab another wad of gauze and press down. “Hold this.”

Zachs doesn’t hesitate.

Wilkes moves to Dax’s head, checking his pulse, his breathing. Still too shallow. “Faith,” Wilkes warns.

“I know,” I snap. I push Zachs’ hand away, exposing the raw, gaping wound.

Dax needs blood, but if I don’t close this, it won’t matter.

I push the needle through.

Dax doesn’t flinch.

The room tilts for a second, but I don’t let myself think about what that means.

I just keep stitching.

Because Dax isn’t dying today.

The last stitch pulls tight, and I cut the thread with shaking hands.

Done.

I take a breath. One deep inhale, another slow exhale, trying to steady myself. Dax is stitched up, but he’s far from safe. His pulse is weak, barely there. Too slow, too unsteady.

I turn my attention back to the transfusion, forcing my hands to stay steady as I search for a vein. I won’t fail him.

The needle slides in smoothly, too smoothly, as if the universe is giving me this one small mercy. I tape it down and connect the line, watching as Trip’s blood begins to flow into Dax’s arm.

It’s not enough to slow the panic clawing at my chest.

He’s lost so much. Too much. And I don’t even know if they’re a match.

Trip shifts beside me. When I look up, he’s watching me, quiet and steady, like he already knows the storm in my head. “It’ll be fine,” he says, low and certain.

The simple confidence in his voice makes something in me loosen.

I nod, just once, and sit on the edge of the bed, gripping Dax’s hand. His skin is cold, too cold. I press closer, trying to share my warmth, trying to will heat back into him.

“Wilkes?” My voice is quieter than I mean it to be.

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