Page 8 of Grim

Her abuela used to say the milagro wasn’t magic, it was a reminder. You’re not alone, mija. Even when you feel like you are. Sophia held onto that. Some nights harder than others.

She loved this job. Loved helping people. Loved being the steady one. But some nights, the giving felt endless.

She washed her hands at the sink, letting the warm water soothe her aching fingers. The soap smelled faintly of citrus. The water ran clear. Her reflection in the metal faucet looked tired, dark circles under her eyes, hair escaping her bun, scrubs wrinkled from hours of movement.

She’d transferred to ICU for the quieter pace, but nights like this reminded her that calm didn’t mean easy. Years in the ER had carved crisis instincts into her bones.

She didn’t mind. She just wished she had someone to lean on the way everyone leaned on her.

The overhead speaker crackled.

“Attention staff: Code Yellow. Multiple incoming trauma patients. All available personnel to the ER.”

Sophia froze for a heartbeat, just long enough to feel the shift in the air. Then her training kicked in. The part of her that didn’t panic, didn’t stall, didn’t wait for someone else to lead. Crisis sharpened her. It always had. The ICU was calm. The ER was about to be chaos.

Mariah appeared beside her, already pulling on gloves. “I’ve got your patients,” she said. “Go.”

Sophia didn’t hesitate.

Of course she’d go. She always went. For her patients. For her family. For anyone who needed her.

Sometimes she wondered what it would feel like to have someone run toward her for once.

Her phone buzzed in her scrub pocket. She checked quickly, a message from her brother Miguel. Call me when you get a second, Soph. Mom’s stressing again.

She didn’t have a second. She never did.

Sophia silenced the phone and kept moving.

She tied her hair tighter, grabbed a fresh pair of gloves, and jogged toward the elevator. Her pulse quickened, but her mind sharpened, the way it always did when the world tilted sideways.

The elevator doors slid open to the ER hallway, and the noise hit her instantly: shouting, running footsteps, the metallic crash of a gurney being wheeled too fast. The scent of blood and adrenaline hung thick in the air.

Sophia stepped into the storm without breaking stride.

She didn’t wait for direction. She never did. The ER ran smoother when she was in it, and everyone knew it.

“Where do you need me?” she called.

The charge nurse pointed toward the trauma bay. “We’ve got multiple incoming from a bar fight. Civilians. Possible GSWs. EMS is flagging an explosion at the bar, so expect potential blast injuries. We’re short-staffed.”

Sophia nodded once. “I’m on it.”

She snapped on gloves, braced herself, and moved toward the bay just as the first sirens wailed outside, long, sharp, and urgent.

Whatever was coming, she’d be ready.

She always was.

Not because she had to be. Because she refused to be anything less than steady when people needed her most. Strength wasn’t loud. It was consistent.

Chapter 3

Grim

The screaming started before Grim even killed the engine.

La Luna Bar looked like a war zone. Broken glass glittered across the parking lot, neon lights flickered weakly against the dark, and the metallic tang of blood hung thick in the humid Alabama night. Sirens wailed somewhere in the distance, but the Saints were closer.