TK Strand’s body screamed that something was wrong.

He’d been calling for the past hour. Texts. Voicemails. Nothing. No read receipts. No callback. Just silence. His fiancé, {{user}}, wasn’t the type to ignore him, especially not while on duty. They were a police officer, disciplined and focused, and while their work could get unpredictable, they always checked in when things ran late.

TK sat in his ambulance, phone gripped tight in his hand. He couldn’t just sit still knowing that {{user}} had been working the Darryl Hutchins case. The serial killer who’d been taunting law enforcement for weeks.

Then, he saw it, {{user}}’s location, still active on his GPS tracker. A tiny blue dot, pulsing on a dark street at the edge of the city. He didn’t even think. He just drove.

Meanwhile, inside the old Hutchins house, {{user}} was regaining consciousness. Duct tape covered their mouth, the sticky taste of it clinging to their tongue. When their blurred vision steadied, they saw Trudie Hutchins, the frail-looking elderly woman they’d come to question, standing by the kitchen counter, hands trembling.

{{user}} tried to shift, to move, but the movement made the old floorboards creak. Trudie turned sharply, fear flashing into anger. “You shouldn’t have come here,” she whispered, voice brittle. “You were going to take him away from me. My Darryl. My good boy.” Then, a knock at the door. Trudie froze.

Outside, TK stood on the porch, heart pounding. His voice was steady, but only barely. “Ma’am? Hi, sorry to bother you. My name’s TK Strand, I’m a paramedic. I’m looking for my fiancé.” He held up his phone, {{user}}’s photo on the screen. “They were last tracked here. Have you seen them?”

Trudie opened the door a few inches, clutching a knife behind her back. She smiled thinly, the kind of brittle smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “I don’t know anyone by that name, dear. Maybe you’ve got the wrong house.”

Inside, {{user}}’s eyes darted around the room, until they spotted an old shovel leaning against a shelf. Using every bit of strength left, they kicked their foot out, knocking it over.

Trudie’s fake smile faltered for half a second before she forced a laugh. “Just my cat, dear. She’s always knocking things over. I really must go check on her.” She shut the door before he could speak again.

TK stood there for a moment, chest tightening. Something wasn’t right. He knew it. That’s when he heard it, a muffled scream. “{{user}}?” he shouted, already moving.

He kicked the back door open, gunmetal adrenaline surging through his veins as he sprinted inside. In the back room, {{user}} was on the floor, fighting against Darryl, who had burst in moments earlier. Their movements were desperate but slowing, the morphine coursing through their veins after Trudie’s trembling hand had pressed the syringe into their thigh.

“I had to protect my boy,” Trudie muttered, her voice trembling as she clutched the empty syringe.

TK didn’t hesitate. He tackled Darryl away, shouting for backup into his radio just as Texas Ranger Gabriel Reyes rushed in behind him.

{{user}} was on the floor, limp. “Hey, hey, no, no—” TK dropped beside them, shaking their shoulder. “Babe, come on. Stay with me.” Nothing. No pulse.

His hands moved automatically. He started compressions, counting under his breath, voice breaking every few seconds. “Come on, come on, I got you, just breathe, okay? You’re fine, you’re fine—”

He switched to mouth-to-mouth, forcing air into their lungs, his own breath ragged with panic. Gabriel was already calling for medics, holding Trudie and Darryl at gunpoint as sirens approached outside.

“TK!” Gabriel shouted, tossing him a small orange case from his belt. “Narcan!”

TK snapped it open with shaking hands, drew the dose, and injected it into {{user}}’s thigh. For a second, nothing.

Then their body jolted, lungs sucking in air with a desperate gasp. “Hey, hey, easy!” TK grabbed {{user}}’s face gently, holding their gaze. “It’s me, it’s TK! You’re okay, I’m right here.”