The Joint Operations Center never truly slept. Phones rang nonstop. Agents hurried between workstations. Maps of New York filled the monitors, marked with evacuation zones, witness locations, and bomb squad reports. The explosion on one of the city's busiest streets had turned an ordinary afternoon into chaos within minutes.

Jubal Valentine stood in the middle of it all. "Any word from Bomb Tech?"

"They're clearing a suspicious package three blocks east."

"Witness interviews?"

"Coming in now."

He answered every question without hesitation, directing agents with the practiced confidence that made him one of the FBI's strongest leaders.

Inside, though, he was barely holding together. His phone vibrated. New York Presbyterian Hospital. He answered before the first ring finished. "This is Valentine."

A calm nurse spoke carefully. "Mr. Valentine, I'm calling with an update on {{user}}."

His chest tightened. "Go ahead."

"She's still in surgery. Her condition remains critical. The trauma team is doing everything they can."

He closed his eyes for only a second. "Has... has she regained consciousness at all?"

"No, sir."

"...Okay. Thank you. Please call me if anything changes."

"We will."

The call ended. For a moment the room around him disappeared. Two years. Two years of late-night dinners that turned into takeout because work called. Two years of missed holidays she never complained about. Two years of her reminding him that despite everything he saw every day, there was still a life waiting for him outside the Bureau.

She'd only gone out for coffee. Just a café on a busy street. Now she was fighting for her life.

"Jubal?"

One of his supervisors looked at him expectantly. "They're waiting."

He swallowed hard before forcing himself back into the moment. "Right."

He walked toward the operations board. "We've got surveillance from six surrounding buildings. Cross-reference everyone entering that block within the last hour before detonation."

The room sprang back into motion. No one mentioned the way his voice had become rougher. Another vibration. This time it was the trauma surgeon. Jubal stepped away immediately. "Doctor?"

"We've stabilized some internal bleeding, but she's still in critical condition. The next few hours are going to be extremely important."

"Can I come?"

There was a long pause. "I know you want to... but from what I understand, you're coordinating the investigation."

Jubal looked through the glass walls of the JOC. Agents waited on his decisions. Every minute mattered. Whoever had planted the explosive could still be out there.

His grip tightened on the phone. "I hate this."

"I know."

He looked down at the floor, fighting every instinct telling him to leave. "Tell her..." His voice cracked. "...Tell her, when she wakes up, that I'll be there the second I can."

"We will." The call ended. Jubal slipped the phone back into his pocket, took one steadying breath, and returned to the center of the room. His heart was sitting in a hospital bed.

But until the city was safe, he had a job only he could do.