Page 34 of Salvation

Dr. Kestral finished placing the bandage on her cheek, then checked her wrists as he had Yulia’s. More abrasions, more evidence of their ordeal. Each injury he treated felt like an accusation -- you weren’t there, you were too late, you failed them.

“Dehydrated, exhausted, some minor injuries,” he concluded. “Let me take a look at you.” Ignoring my attempt to wave him off, he bandaged my arm, then began packing his supplies back into his bag. “Nothing life-threatening for any of you, but they need rest, fluids, and monitoring for the next twenty-four hours.”

I nodded, unable to form words past the tightness in my throat. The doctor stood, moving back to give us space, but I remained where I was, paralyzed by the blood drying on my skin. It flaked when I flexed my fingers, falling to the concrete like rust.

Yulia’s eyes never left my face. “I never had any doubt you’d come for us,” she said softly. “Not for a single moment.” The simple certainty in her voice nearly broke me. She reached toward me, but I shifted slightly back, keeping my filthy hands away from her. The movement wasn’t lost on her -- nothing ever was. She’d always seen me more clearly than I’d seen myself. “It’s okay,” she whispered, understanding in her eyes. “We’re okay.”

But it wasn’t okay. Nothing about this was okay. My jaw clenched so hard it ached, teeth grinding together as I fought to maintain control. My family had been taken, hurt, terrified -- because of me. Because of who I was, what I did, the life I’d chosen. The blood on my hands felt suddenly symbolic, impossible to wash away.

I nodded once, sharply, the only response I could manage. My gaze never left them, cataloging every detail as if they might vanish again if I looked away -- the pallor of Yulia’s skin beneath the bruising, the slight tremble in Clover’s hands, the way they leaned toward each other for support. My family. Hurt but alive. Damaged but whole.

“We need to move,” Hawk said from the doorway, his voice low and urgent. “Now.”

I rose to my feet, body stiff from kneeling on concrete. Dr. Kestral helped Yulia stand while Cyclops supported Clover. I watched, hands hanging uselessly at my sides.

“Can you walk?” I asked them, hating how weak the question sounded. Of course they could walk. They’d survived captivity, fear and pain. They were stronger than I deserved.

“We’ll manage,” Yulia answered, her gaze never leaving mine. “Take us home, Salvation.”

Home. The word echoed in the empty spaces inside me. I would take them home, keep them safe. And then, somehow, I would find a way to wash the blood from my hands.

* * *

The roar of motorcycles cut through the morning as we formed a protective convoy around the SUV carrying Yulia and Clover. I took point, the familiar vibration of my bike beneath me doing nothing to ease the knot in my chest. Beast and Hawk flanked the vehicle like dark sentinels, their headlights bathing the empty streets in white light. Nothing mattered except getting my family home.

Wind whipped against my face as I led the procession back to the compound. My knuckles tightened on the handlebars, the splits in my skin reopening with the pressure.

The compound appeared ahead, its outline familiar against the blue sky. Home. Safety. The massive gates stood open, waiting for us, and something tightened in my throat at the sight that greeted me. Brothers lined the entrance on both sides, standing at attention like an honor guard, solemn faces illuminated by the headlights as we passed between them. No cheers, no celebration -- just the quiet acknowledgment of what had happened, what had almost been lost.

I cut my engine outside the clubhouse, the sudden silence ringing in my ears. Around me, motorcycles went quiet one by one as my brothers parked in a protective circle around the SUV. Beast dismounted first, moving to my side with the silent communication that came from years of friendship. No words needed. He understood.

The SUV doors opened, and Dr. Kestral emerged first, circling to help Yulia and Clover. They looked even more exhausted in the harsh compound lights, their faces pale, bodies held together by sheer willpower. Yulia kept one arm around Clover’s shoulders, supporting her despite her own injuries -- the fierce protectiveness that had always defined her, even when she was the one who needed protection.

“Inside,” Beast ordered, his deep voice carrying across the courtyard. The single word set everything in motion -- brothers forming a corridor from the vehicle to the clubhouse, others moving to secure the perimeter, all of them focused on the same mission. Protect. Defend.

I moved toward Yulia and Clover but stopped short of touching them, painfully aware of my appearance. Blood spattered my shirt and jeans, crusted under my fingernails, mapped in the creases of my knuckles. Instead, I led the way, Beast and Hawk falling in beside me like bracketing shadows.

“Medical room’s ready,” Hawk said quietly. “Doc Cooper’s on standby if needed. But it looks like that won’t be necessary.”

I nodded, the simple movement requiring more effort than it should. “Thanks.”

We crossed the courtyard in silence, boots heavy on the packed earth. Behind me, I could hear Prospero’s voice, pitched low and gentle as he guided Yulia and Clover toward the clubhouse.

“Just a little farther,” he was saying. “Everything’s prepared. You’re safe now.”

The words scraped against my chest like barbed wire. Safe now. But they hadn’t been safe before. I’d failed them in the most fundamental way.

The clubhouse was unusually quiet as we entered, the usual noise and chaos replaced by a watchful stillness. Brothers nodded as we passed, expressions grim, respectful.

Dr. Kestral directed us toward the infirmary -- a room we’d converted years ago for situations just like this, though never for my own family. The space was stark but well-equipped: two hospital beds with clean sheets, cabinets stocked with medical supplies, an IV stand, monitoring equipment. Too much like a hospital. Too much like defeat.

I stopped at the threshold, unable to cross into the room. My boots seemed rooted to the floor as Prospero guided Yulia to one bed, Clover to the other. Dr. Kestral moved between them with practiced efficiency, opening cabinets, preparing supplies, his movements sure and precise in a world that had suddenly lost all certainty for me.

“Get that shirt off,” he instructed, snapping on latex gloves. “I need to check those ribs properly and get them wrapped.”

My hand tightened on the doorframe, knuckles splitting farther as Yulia carefully removed her shirt, revealing the full extent of the bruising across her ribcage. Purple and black stained her pale skin like spilled ink, evidence of the violence she’d endured. I noticed Prospero kept his gaze locked on the opposite wall.

A presence appeared at my shoulder -- Hawk, his face lined with concern. “You should clean up,” he said quietly. “Get that blood off. We’ve got this covered.”

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