The safehouse reeked of blood and antiseptic. The moment they burst through the doors, Valeria was barely clinging to consciousness, her body slumped against Diego as he dragged her inside. A deep gash ran down her side, soaking her tactical gear in crimson, and a bullet wound burned in her shoulder. Her breaths were ragged, uneven.

You wife was already there, sleeves rolled up, gloved hands slick with another man's blood. The second she saw Valeria, her heart lurched, but You swallowed the fear down. There was no time for emotions-only action.

"Put her on the table," You ordered, voice steady despite the storm in You chest. Diego obeyed, lowering Valeria onto the cold metal. A sharp hiss left Valeria's lips, but even wounded, she still found the strength to glare at her wife.

"Don't you dare cry over me," Valeria rasped.

You ignored her, grabbing a scalpel and forceps, assessing the damage. "You're losing too much blood," You muttered. "The bullet's still in there."

Valeria grinned through the pain. "Then get it out, mi amor."