Page 176 of Betrayal and Vows

The non-answer makes my blood freeze. "Dmitri, please. Is he alive?"

His usual playfulness fades.

"It's not good, Lena." His jaw tightens as he helps me into the passenger seat. "But he's breathing. That's something."

A man I don't recognize sits behind the wheel—dark hair, serious face, wearing tactical gear. He nods at me briefly.

"Maxsim," Dmitri says by way of introduction as he slides into the back seat. "He's with us."

Maxsim guns the engine. We tear through Moscow streets like demons are chasing us. Maybe they are.

I press my hand to my stomach again, this tiny life inside me the only thing keeping me from completely falling apart.

Anton has to live. He has to meet his child. He has to know that despite everything, something beautiful came from all this darkness.

"How bad?" I whisper.

Dmitri's reflection in the side mirror looks grim. "Bad enough. But Anton's too stubborn to die. Trust me—I've seen him survive worse."

I want to believe him. I have to believe him.

Because the alternative is a world without Anton in it.

And that's not a world I know how to survive.

The fluorescent lights of the hospital corridor burn my eyes as we rush through automatic doors. Everything smells like disinfectant and death. My legs feel like they might give out at any moment.

"Ma'am, you need to be checked out," a nurse intercepts us, her eyes taking in my torn clothes and the blood—Anton's blood—still staining my shirt. "You've clearly been through trauma?—"

"No." I push past her, scanning the hallway frantically. "Where is he? Where's Anton?"

"Ma'am, please, let us examine you first?—"

"I said no!" My voice cracks like a whip through the sterile air. "I need to see him now!"

Dmitri steps between me and the persistent nurse. "She's not leaving until she sees him. Don't waste your time arguing."

The nurse looks like she wants to protest, but something in Dmitri's expression stops her. She sighs, defeated. "Down the hall. But the doctors are still working?—"

I'm already running.

My feet slap against the linoleum as I race down the corridor, Dmitri's footsteps echoing behind me. And then I see it.

A nurse runs in carrying two bags of blood just as another one runs out.

I can feel their urgency. Feel their concern.

I burst through the door and the world tilts sideways.

Anton lies motionless on the hospital bed, his skin gray as ash. Doctors and nurses surround him, their hands moving frantically over his chest. One of them pumps rhythmically—CPR—while another charges paddles.

The monitor beside his bed emits one long, unbroken tone.

Flatline.

"Clear!"

His body jerks as electricity shoots through him, but the line stays flat. That horrible, endless beep continues.