Page 152 of When the Sky Falls

“I’ve got the boys,” he says, jaw set. “I’ll dress them and be right behind you. Go with them, Mya. She needs you.”

I nod, already moving.

I’m already climbing into the back seat, heart in my throat and hands shaking, eyes locked on the girl who feels like a part of my soul. My best friend. My other half. Not by blood or by years—but by everything that ever mattered.

And she’s fading.

Reese is slumped against the seat, her face bone-white, lips tinged blue and trembling. Her breaths are shallow, uneven, like her body’s trying to shut down while her heart fights to hold on. There’s blood everywhere—on her thighs, soaked into her jeans, smeared across Thorin’s chest like a warning.

“Reese,” I choke out, reaching for her hand. It’s ice-cold. Limp.

Terror claws its way up my spine.

“I’m here,” I whisper, grabbing her hand. “You’re not alone.”

Thorin peels out of the driveway like the devil’s chasing him, gravel spitting under the tires, headlights carving a path through the dark. Reese lets out a broken sob as another wave of pain crashes through her.

And I hold her tighter, praying that this isn’t the end of something we didn’t even get the chance to celebrate.

The tires scream as Thorin whips into the emergency bay, headlights bouncing off white walls and red signs and the unforgiving glass of the ER doors. The truck hasn’t even come to a full stop before he’s out—driver’s side door thrown open, boots pounding asphalt.

“HELP!” His voice cracks like thunder. “I NEED HELP!”

I fumble with the handle, heart battering my ribs so hard it might break free. The second I’m out, I’m rounding the truck just as Thorin pulls Reese into his arms again, cradling her like she’s made of paper and the wind’s already trying to steal her.

Her head lolls. Her eyes flutter, unfocused.

I don’t let go of her hand.

I can’t.

We rush through the sliding doors, and the world explodes in noise and light and motion. A nurse yells something. A gurney appears. The smell of antiseptic hits like a punch to the lungs. Thorin’s voice is hoarse and frantic as he tries to explain what happened—blood loss, pregnancy, she collapsed, she’s not waking up, please just do something—but it all blurs together under the roar in my ears.

I stay beside her. Step for step. Her fingers still curled in mine.

“Mya,” one of the nurses says gently, trying to peel me back as they wheel Reese away. “We need you to wait here⁠—”

“No.” The word rips from my throat, jagged and raw. “I’m not letting go.”

“Please.” She softens. “Just until we stabilize her. We’ll come get you, I promise.”

And then they’re gone.

Gone behind a wall of pale blue scrubs and automatic doors, swallowed whole by the blinking lights and beeping machines and sterile, clinical distance that has no space for panic or love or the fact that I’m standing here with blood on my hands that isn’t mine.

I stare at the doors.

My hand is still shaking.

She wasn’t supposed to be pregnant. None of us knew. Not even me. And I know her—I know her. Every corner of her brain. Every crease in her smile. Every scar she never talks about. She’s the one person in this world who’s seen all of me and stayed. She’s the constant. The anchor. My person.

And now she’s in a room I can’t reach, bleeding from a secret she never told.

I press my fists to my chest and fold forward onto the nearest chair, trying to hold myself together with nothing but oxygen and sheer will. Thorin is pacing like a caged animal, hands in his hair, muttering curses between panicked breaths.

Fletch. The boys. I don’t even know if he’s here yet.

But right now?