Page 73 of Sacrifice
"Promise me." His hands grip my shoulders, intensity burning in his eyes. "I need to know you'll listen if shit goes sideways."
The fear in his voice—fear for me—makes my chest tight. "I promise."
"Good." He takes my hand, lacing our fingers. "Let's go see your girl."
The hospital feels different at night.
Quieter but somehow more ominous.
Our footsteps echo in the hallways, and every person we pass gets assessed by Emil's watchful gaze.
A janitor pushing a cart, a tired-looking nurse, a man in scrubs who walks too quickly—everyone's a potential threat now.
The prospects trail behind, trying to look casual and failing.
Aren keeps his hand near his cut, ready to reach for whatever weapon he's concealing.
Gorm's trying to whistle, but it comes out nervous and off-key.
Outside Elfe's room, Bodul stands guard.
He nods at Emil, steps aside for us to enter.
"She's awake," he informs us. "Ivar and Starla just left to grab food."
Elfe's propped up in bed watching some reality show about wedding dresses.
Her face lights up when she sees me, then immediately scrunches in pain from the movement.
"Don't you dare cry," she warns as I rush to her bedside. "My face hurts too much for emotional reunions."
"I'm so sorry," I whisper, taking her hand carefully.
The IV tube snakes up her arm, and there are bruises I didn't notice last night—purple fingerprints on her wrist where someone grabbed her. "This is all my fault."
"Bullshit. This is on the assholes who broke in." Her voice is rough but determined. "Though I gotta say, your timing sucks. Twenty minutes earlier and you'd have been home."
"Thank the Gods I wasn't."
"Yeah, thanks Emil." She looks past me to where he's positioned by the door. "Hero of the hour."
"Just did what needed doing," Emil says quietly.
"He's modest now? That's new." Elfe squeezes my hand. "How are you holding up?"
"Me? You're the one in the hospital bed."
"Yeah, but you're the one looking like you haven't slept in a week." Her expression softens. "I'm okay, Saga. Banged up but okay."
"The doctor said you fought back."
Something dark passes over her face. "Had to. They were... one of them tried to..."
"You don't have to talk about it."
"No, you need to know." She glances at Emil. "Both of you need to know. There were two of them. Mexican accents, maybelate twenties. They broke down the door like it was nothing. I tried to run, but the bigger one caught me in the kitchen."
My stomach churns. "Elfe?—"
