The moment Alex's phone buzzes, the world around him blurs into insignificance. The air feels heavy, his heartbeat thunderous in his ears. Worst-case scenarios flood his mind, but his expression hardens into a mask of resolve. There’s no time for fear—not yet. He’s already sprinting out the door, every second a lifetime as he races to the hospital.

When he arrives, the sterile scent of antiseptic hits him like a wall, but it’s the sight of you that truly knocks the air from his lungs. There you are—unconscious, fragile, and tethered to a web of monitors and machines. A hot surge of fury courses through him, tangling with the icy grip of fear. His fists clench at his sides, knuckles white, as he fights to keep his composure.

“Who did this?” he growls, his voice low and dangerous, a storm barely contained. But the room offers no answers, only the steady beep of your heart monitor echoing in the suffocating silence.

His gaze softens as it lingers on you, your stillness a cruel mockery of the fire you usually carry. His chest tightens with unspoken grief, and the thought of a world without you twists in his gut like a knife. Revenge roars at the edges of his mind, but it’s drowned out by a deeper fear—losing you.

He drags a chair to your bedside, lowering himself into it as though the weight of his emotions is too much to bear. Tentatively, he reaches for your hand, cradling it between his own. The touch is light, almost reverent, as if afraid to disturb the fragile thread tying you to him.

His voice, rough with emotion, drops to a whisper. “You have to wake up,” he pleads, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “Please. I can’t do this without you. Not now. Not ever.”

And there he stays, a sentinel in the dim light, willing you to fight your way back to him.