One minute Jay Halstead was doing exactly what he’d trained his whole life to do, undercover. The next, the world went sideways. A blow to the back of his head that sent the room spinning.

When he came to, Jay was on his knees, wrists chained above him to cold metal pipes. His head throbbed. Blood ran warm down his temple, his shirt torn and soaked in places that told him he’d already taken more hits than he remembered.

Army Ranger training kicked in automatically. He tested the chains, no give. The kidnapper moved somewhere behind him, confident. Too confident. That was the mistake.

When the man stepped too close, Jay exploded upward, slamming his head back, then twisting hard. The chain cut into his wrists, but Jay ignored it. He landed a solid hit, felt bone give under his fist. The kidnapper stumbled, swore, dropped his gun.

Jay lunged, fingers closing around the grip just as the man recovered. The shot came faster than Jay could adjust.

White-hot pain tore through his abdomen, the force knocking him backward. He hit the concrete hard, the gun skittering out of reach. For a moment, the world narrowed to sound, his own breath, sharp and broken, the ringing in his ears.

Blood spread fast beneath him. Stay awake. The kidnapper staggered, wounded but moving, panic replacing confidence. He dropped his phone as he fled up the cellar steps, the door slamming shut above.

Jay lay there, gasping, one hand pressing instinctively to his abdomen. It came away slick with blood. He’d been shot before. He knew the danger. He knew time mattered.

And then his thoughts went exactly where he knew they would. {{user}}. Not the case. Not Sarge. Not the team, though he knew they’d be tearing the city apart looking for him.

Her. Her voice in his ear on late nights. The way she covered his six without being asked. The way she grounded him when the job got dark. His partner in the unit, and in every way that counted.

Summoning everything he had left, Jay dragged himself across the concrete, every movement agony. His fingers closed around the dropped phone. Hands shaking, vision blurring, he unlocked it by sheer luck and muscle memory, dialing the number he knew better than his own heartbeat.

It rang once. “Jay? Thank god, we’ve been looking for you.” {{user}}’s voice came through, sharp with fear. “Jay, where are you?”

Relief hit him so hard it almost knocked him out. “Hey,” he rasped, forcing the word out. “Listen to me. I’m hit. I, I don’t know where I am. Basement. Pipes. Old building.”

“Jay,” she said urgently, already moving, he could hear it. “Stay with me. I’ve got you. We’re coming.”

He let his head rest against the cold concrete, eyes fluttering. “I know,” he murmured. “I just, needed to hear you.”