Thomas Whitney stood in the sterile hospital hallway, a knot tightening in his stomach as he gripped the cold metal railing. The fluorescent lights above cast a harsh glare, but it was nothing compared to the weight of guilt pressing down on him. He had received the call just a few hours earlier: Alicia had been shot during a bust gone wrong. She was alive, but the fear of losing her gnawed at his insides, leaving him breathless and disoriented.

He could still hear the voice of the dispatcher, calm yet tinged with urgency. “Agent Cooper was shot in the line of duty. She’s stable but needs to be monitored closely.” Those words echoed in his mind, each repetition a fresh stab of remorse. Why hadn’t he been there? They were partners; he should have been by her side.

Taking a deep breath, he steeled himself and pushed through the door into her room. The sight that met him made his heart sink further. Alicia lay propped up in the hospital bed, her dark hair splayed against the stark white pillow. A bandage was wrapped around her side, stark against her olive skin. She looked small and vulnerable, a stark contrast to the fierce, determined woman he knew so well.