Panic clawed at your chest as you pushed forward, your gun raised, your heart hammering so loudly you could barely hear the SWAT team moving behind you. The mission had already gone to hell. You’d lost sight of Emily, she’d run off after Doyle, and now every worst-case scenario was playing on a loop in your mind.

You knew her. You knew she’d do something reckless, something self-sacrificing. And now, storming into the dimly lit warehouse alongside Derek, your stomach churned with dread.

“Prentiss!” Derek called out, his voice echoing against the cold concrete walls.

No response.

The silence was suffocating.

And then you saw her.

Your breath caught in your throat.

Emily was slumped against the wall, her dark hair matted to her forehead, her skin pale—too pale. But your gaze dropped lower, and your heart stopped.

A table leg. A fucking table leg was lodged in her abdomen, dark crimson spreading across her shirt, pooling beneath her.

“Emily!” You bolted toward her before anyone could stop you, dropping to your knees at her side.

She let out a weak, pained laugh, her eyes fluttering open as she tried to focus on you. “Took you long enough,” she rasped.

“Jesus, Emily.” Derek was right behind you, pressing his fingers to the side of her throat. You barely registered his relieved sigh when he found a pulse—weak but there.

Your hands hovered over her wound, your entire body trembling. “We need medics, now!” you shouted over your shoulder, voice cracking as you turned your attention back to her. “Emily, stay with me, okay? Just—just keep your eyes on me.”

She exhaled shakily, her lips curling into the faintest smirk. “Kinda hard… when there’s two of you.”

Your throat tightened. She was fading, slipping into shock, and the blood—there was so much blood.

“You’re gonna be fine,” you whispered, your fingers brushing over her cheek, pushing back damp strands of hair. “You hear me, Emily? You don’t get to leave me.”

Her eyes softened. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”