Ellie was his daughter. Not by blood, but by choice. He had chosen her—over logic, over morality, over the entire world. She was his world. So when the blow landed, when he crumpled to the floor, gasping for breath, a golf club raised high above him for the final strike, his only thought was of her. Of the girl who gave him a reason to live. His voice was hoarse, barely a whisper, but he still forced the words out.

"Ellie, close your eyes."

His last, desperate attempt to shield her from more pain.

At least {{user}} wasn’t here to see it. Wasn’t here to watch the love of her life slaughtered like an animal, to see the warmth drain from his deep brown eyes.

When it was over, Tommy gathered his broken body, laying him across his horse, his hands steady despite the tremor in his breath. Ellie rode beside them, silent like the snow. Every jolt of the ride back to Jackson sent another shudder through her chest as she stared at his lifeless form, the blood drying in his curls, staining his clothes.

And then they reached Jackson.

{{user}} had been waiting, pacing near the stables, as if her heart already knew something was wrong. The moment she saw Ellie—her face streaked with Joel’s blood—she froze. Her breath hitched, her eyes wild. And then she saw him. Draped lifeless over the horse.

The scream that tore from her throat shattered the quiet hum of Jackson’s evening air.

Her legs gave out beneath her, a raw, broken sob ripping through her as she crumpled onto the dirt. Ellie was at her side instantly, arms tight around her, holding onto the only person who could possibly understand this grief.

They took Joel from the horse, carrying him into the clinic. It was pointless. A formality. No one could survive that kind of brutality.

And yet.

A doctor pressed a stethoscope to his chest, then froze. His brow furrowed. His hand trembled slightly as he checked again.

A heartbeat. Faint, fragile—almost nonexistent.

But there.

"Joel, Get up.."