Page 121 of Zorro

“Thank you,” he said into her hair, voice hoarse, rough with gratitude. “Thank you for being…you.”

She stood stiffly for a breath, startled by the weight of his presence. This man didn’t touch people casually. Didn’t break easily. But now, here, he did both.

Then she let go.

She let her cheek rest against his chest, her body trembling from adrenaline and bone-deep fatigue.

When he pulled back, his hands lingered on her shoulders like he couldn’t quite bring himself to let go.

“Are they stable?”

“For now,” she whispered. “They’re fighters. But you already knew that.” Pippa rose, sliding next to her husband and wrapping his waist with her arm.

He nodded, throat working. Then he turned to face the others. “They made it,” he said simply.

The team exhaled all at once, a collective breath they hadn’t realized they’d been holding. Warriors and their women unspooling tension the only way they knew how, quietly.

Buck muttered a curse and dropped his head into his hands. Maritza pulled him in tighter.

Blitz sat down hard and let his head thud back against the wall, eyes closed, Bree’s hand rubbing a slow circle on his chest.

Professor didn’t move. But Julia gripped his hand like she was anchoring them both.

Everly glanced toward Bear’s name on the intake board, her voice so low it was almost lost. “Jules said…he asked for you.”

Heads turned.

Joker looked back at her, his brow lifting slightly. She met his gaze. This time steadier. More sure. “Zorro, too.”

D-Day crossed himself. Helen moved closer without a word.

Professor leaned forward, elbows on knees, hands clasped, murmuring just above the hum of the air vent, “Then we’re going to be okay.”

The doors at the far end of the corridor swung open again. Dr. Jules Marchand emerged, stripping off his mask as he walked. His tan scrub top was stained across the chest. His brow was damp. But his posture held easy grace, the kind that only came from years spent earning it.

He spotted Everly and crossed to them, his expression carved from something sharp and real.

“You are lucky men,” he said, his French accent more pronounced in exhaustion. “To have her. On your team. On your side.” He glanced at Joker. “I have been in trauma medicine for twenty-two years. Still I learned something tonight.”

Everly blinked, stunned by the sincerity in his voice.

Jules gave her a nod of absolute respect. “You didn’t just save them. You taught me what it looks like when someone fights with everything.” His eyes softened. “Loves without apology.”

He turned to the others. “Bear is stable. He is strong, yes? Like his name.” A tired half-smile curved his mouth. “He asked for you, Lieutenant. All of you, and for the dog. I told him you would be there when he wakes.”

Then, he said quietly to Everly, “He is alive because of you.”

He stepped back. “I’ll check on the transfer team. Let you be together now.”

Then he was gone, walking down the hallway like the closing line of a poem that would stay with them all.

As Jules disappeared down the hall, the silence settled again, fuller this time, threaded with something steadier than just breath.

Then another figure approached, walking with quiet purpose, a man in teal scrubs with a stethoscope still slung around his neck. His dark hair was tied back neatly, and there was mud on his boots that hadn't quite been scrubbed out.

“I’m looking for Lieutenant Jackman?”

Joker turned. “You found him.”

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