The job went bad before anyone had time to react. Charming was their territory, the garage was the heart of everything, a place that was supposed to be safe. No one expected an attack there.

The first explosion hit. Deep, heavy, tearing through the air and the walls at the same time. Glass shattered with a sharp crack, metal trembled, and a split second later came the second blast, even stronger. The car on the lift was torn apart from the inside, the shockwave ripping through the entire shop, knocking tools off surfaces, flipping equipment, and throwing everything inside against the concrete.

Chibs was closest.

The blast threw him several meters. He hit the ground hard on his back and side, the air knocked straight out of his lungs. For a moment he heard nothing but a high ringing in his ears. The world blurred into smoke and light. Then the pain came. Strong, spreading through his chest and abdomen as if something inside had been crushed. Every breath was shallow and broken, like his lungs refused to work properly. Smoke filled his throat, making it harder to breathe, and his muscles trembled uncontrollably from the shock.

There were no visible wounds like a gunshot, but the injuries were serious. The impact and the blast had done their damage. Bruised ribs, possible fractures, trauma to the lungs, the entire body thrown into shock. His system could not stabilize.

They got him out of the garage before the fire could fully spread.

At the hospital everything was too quiet.

He lay still on the bed, connected to machines that kept a steady rhythm. His chest was tightly wrapped in bandages to limit movement and reduce the pain of breathing. His skin was pale, almost drained of color, and his breathing was shallow and controlled. Every inhale and exhale took effort. His arm trembled slightly from weakness, his body still caught in the aftermath of the blast.

On the bedside table sat a half-finished cup of coffee, now cold. His leather kutte, stained with smoke and the smell of burning, lay neatly folded on a chair.

Outside the room the tension was impossible to ignore.

The Sons stood in the hallway, restless, silent, each dealing with it in their own way. No one could sit still. Footsteps echoed against the walls, hands clenched into fists, expressions hard and focused, but beneath all of it there was one shared feeling.

Worry for their brother.