Slade had seen pain before.

Battlefields had a way of teaching a man exactly how much the human body could endure—broken bones set without anesthesia, soldiers biting down on leather straps while medics dug shrapnel out of muscle, the kind of injuries that turned strong men into shaking wrecks.

He understood pain.

But this?

This was different.

The hospital room was too bright, too loud, filled with the steady rhythm of monitors and the quiet urgency of nurses moving in and out of the doorway. Slade stood near the side of the bed like a man who had been dropped into unfamiliar territory without a map.

His arms were crossed tightly across his chest.

His eye followed every shift of her body, every sharp breath, every moment where the pain twisted through her hard enough to make her grip the sheets.

His jaw tightened.

He lasted exactly thirty seconds before looking toward the nurse.

“She’s getting the epidural,” Slade said flatly.

Not a question.

An order delivered with the calm authority of someone used to being obeyed.

His gaze flicked back toward her immediately, attention sharp and protective in a way that had nothing to do with combat.

“I’ve seen enough people fight through pain for a lifetime,” he continued evenly.

His voice lowered slightly, though the firmness in it didn’t change.

“She doesn’t need to prove anything.”

His arms tightened again across his chest as he glanced toward the door.

“So whatever paperwork you need…”

His eye narrowed just slightly.

“…get the anesthesiologist in here.”