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He turned, heading for the hallway, making for the door like instinct had kicked in and told him to run.

But Dominic was faster.

With one swift motion, he handed Adam, simply peeled the child off his torso with terrifying ease, fingers curled beneath Adam’s thighs and ribs, lifting and maneuvering him like a bundle of air. Not even a grunt. No shifting of balance. Just that cold, commanding control he always carried. His muscles flexed and his arms extended toward me with mechanical steadiness, like he wasn’t handing over sixty pounds of flesh and bone and trust, but some feather-light object he didn’t even register. Like he didn’t have a wound beneath his shirt which was still healing. 

“Take him,” Dominic muttered, low and smooth. 

I barely had time to brace before Adam’s full weight landed in my arms.

And God, I felt it.

The force of it hit my center like a punch. My knees instinctively bent, my arms jolting as I staggered half a step back to catch myself. The boy’s legs swung into my side as I adjusted, wrapping my arms tighter around him, his head pressed awkwardly into the side of my neck. My muscles screamed with the sudden strain. Sixty pounds of wriggling, frightened child was no joke, and Dominic had just tossed him to me like he weighed nothing.

My arms ached instantly.

Adam wasn’t cooperating either—his limbs were stiff with tension, chest heaving, his fingers digging into my shoulder. He made a tiny sound, not quite a sob, not quite a word, just a breathy whimper that fanned hot air against my collarbone.

“Hey—hey, I’ve got you,” I whispered quickly, adjusting my grip, forcing one arm under his thighs and the other around his back. His weight slid unevenly to my left side, pulling hard on my shoulder, and I gritted my teeth to keep upright.

Dominic didn’t even look back.

He caught Gael mid-step, slamming an arm across the man’s chest and shoving him hard back into the wall. The thud echoed through the room, Gael’s breath escaping in a hard grunt.

Dominic didn’t budge.

He stepped in close. Chest to chest. Gael might’ve been taller, but Dominic was bigger. Broader. Denser. Built like a fortress of blood and bone and rage.

Then it happened.

With one sharp, clean motion, Dominic pulled a gun from the back of his jeans and shoved the muzzle hard into Gael’s lower abdomen.

Click.

Safety off.

My breath stopped. 

So did Isabella’s.

Tina stirred slightly, but still out of it. The rest of us were frozen.

Gael’s body locked. His hands came up slowly, open, palms out.

Dominic leaned in, so close their noses almost touched.

“I’ve had a terrible fucking day,” he said, voice like gravel. “And I know you know who we are. But you look smart enough to know not everything they said on the news is true.”

The gun pressed in harder.

“I don’t care what you think you know,” Dominic growled, the barrel of the gun now kissing Gael’s lower belly with a terrifying finality. “But if you don’t step back, I will blow your fucking intestines out of your stomach and mop them off the tile. Add one more to my list. I don’t mind.”

Gael froze. Adam's apple bobbed hard as he swallowed, eyes wide, breath coming quicker now, his body rigid, like every cell inside him knew it was two seconds away from being painted across the living room floor. His hands hovered, palms slightly lifted like he wanted to show he wasn’t a threat, but they were trembling, barely. And that tiny shake didn’t escape Dominic’s gaze.

“Hey, Hey!” Isabella’s voice cracked as she stumbled towards the two. She tried not to get between them, scared the gun might go off and the bullet would imbed itself into Gael’s gut. “He’s not a threat, okay? He would never tell anyone. He’s not like that! He’s not, he’s not involved in anything. He’s a good kid, I swear—”

“Then why the fuck is he looking at me like he’s calculating how to sell us to the cops?” Dominic snarled, shifting slightly but never lowering the gun. “Tell me that.”

“There’s no need for the gun,” she pleaded, voice shaking now. “Please, there’s no harm here. None. He won’t say a word—he’s scared, that’s all. He wouldn’t dare, he, he’s not going to do anything. Just put the gun down. Please. I’m begging you.”

Adam whimpered against my neck, his whole body stiff in my arms, his small hands fisting the fabric of my shirt like he could claw his way inside me for safety. I tightened my hold around him, pressing a soft kiss to his temple, whispering with all the calm I could force out of my trembling throat.

“Shh… it’s okay, baby,” I murmured into his hair. “No one’s gonna get hurt. Everything’s gonna be fine. You’re safe. I promise you’re safe…”

But my eyes flicked toward Gael, and it was very, very clear, he didn’t believe it.

Gael looked like he’d just walked into a burning building and realized there was no way out. His breath came faster now, his skin glistening with a cold, terrified sweat. The sharp line of his jaw was tight, pulsing. His beautiful face, golden skin, those too-pretty hazel eyes, twisted now with something helpless, like he’d never stood this close to death before. Like he hadn’t expected it to wear such a charming face and carry a gun with such casual familiarity.

Dominic didn’t waver. If anything, he leaned in.

Pressed the muzzle deeper.

“Gale is not going to do anything!” Isabella’s voice cracked again, more desperate now. She shoved harder at Dominic’s chest, trying to create distance, her breath catching as she now tried to anchor herself between them. “Dominic, please! He’s a surgeon! He’s literally been working night shifts, he’s got no time, no reason to get involved in anything!”

My gaze darted to the couch.

Tina.

She was slipping.

Her body had gone limp sometime in the last few seconds, head lolled to the side, one arm drooping off the edge of the couch like a puppet with its strings cut. Her lips were parted, gasping quietly, unevenly, chest stuttering with shallow breath. Her skin—God, it looked waxy, damp with fever-sweat. Her eyes were fluttering under her lids like she was trapped inside a nightmare she couldn’t wake up from.

Dominic must’ve seen it too.

Because he shifted the gun just enough to spit out through clenched teeth, “You’re going to treat her. Now. There’s a stab wound in her side, she’s burning up, and if you really are what she says you are, you’re gonna fix her. And fast.”

“I—I—” Gael started, but the words broke, his voice hoarse.

“He will,” Isabella cut in instantly, frantic, almost hysterical. “He’ll do whatever you say, I swear. He’ll help her. Just, please put the gun down, please, he’s not trying to run, he’s scared, that’s all, he’s scared—”

Dominic’s eyes never left Gael’s. His voice dropped lower, darker—something raw and dangerous simmering beneath the surface.

“He doesn’t look scared to help. He looks like he’s trying to figure out how fast he can bolt and dial 911,” he said. “He looks like he’s way too fucking confused to do shit, and a lot more interested in saving his own ass than hers.”

He tilted the gun slightly, pressed it harder. The surgeon twitched, shoulders tightening, a tiny gasp slipping from his lips. His eyes darted once—just once—to Tina. Then, his gaze settled back on Dominic, then flicked to me, then to Tina again. He saw her, her bloodied sides. He saw the child. He saw the exhaustion and chaos and the reality of it. And that fight-or-flight instinct flared hard in his face.

He wanted to run.

He wanted to run.

I saw it clear as day: the telltale twitch in his knee, the fleeting shift of his weight, the way his pupils danced between Dominic and the hallway behind him. He was trying to calculate the distance between here and safety. I could feel it radiating off him like heat, the pure, unfiltered panic bubbling under his skin, ready to boil over. Gael’s bare chest rose and fell in tight, panicked breaths, his skin glistening with sweat, chest heaving like he’d just finished a marathon. His arms hung slightly out from his sides, tensed like he didn’t know whether to lift them in surrender or use them to shove Dominic aside and make a break for it.

The sight of the gun, still up, still shaking slightly in Dominic’s grip, had locked every muscle in his frame.

I glanced down, felt the weight of Adam against my side. His breathing was fast. His arms had tightened around me in a slow, firm chokehold—not clinging like a toddler, no, he was ten, and he was trying hard not to look weak. But his jaw was clenched, his eyes huge and wet, and I could feel the tremor in his body. Not fear of monsters under the bed. Real fear. Gun-in-his-face, someone-could-die fear.

“Isabella,” I said, quietly but urgently.

Her eyes whipped toward me.

“What?” she whispered back, already moving.

“I need you to hold him.”

Adam heard me. His grip faltered.

I bent and gently, but quickly, lowered him. His sneakers hit the tiled floor hard. It wasn’t a graceful landing. His knees wobbled, his shoes scraped noisily. His body jerked in shock, more surprised than hurt, and he scowled up at me, not with anger, but a flash of betrayal.

He didn’t cry this time. He didn’t flinch. Instead, he wiped his nose roughly with his sleeve, squared his shoulders the way little boys do when they’re desperate to be seen as men, and turned toward Isabella. She knelt and grabbed his shoulders like she was afraid he’d vanish, and he didn’t lean into her, but he didn’t pull away either.

He stood there, jaw tight, looking straight ahead like a soldier.

Like we hadn’t all seen him crying a moment ago.

I turned to Dominic. My heart was pounding now. “Put the gun away.”

He didn’t move. Didn’t even blink.

His body was as still as stone, the barrel still pointed in Gael’s direction. His eyes narrowed at me like I’d just asked him to throw away his spine.

“Are you out of your mind?” he hissed.

I held his gaze. “Put it away.”

The silence between us was tense and electric. I knew Dominic well—knew what that gun in his hand meant. Control. Safety. Power. But I also knew that if he didn’t lower it now, we would lose Gael entirely. We couldn’t afford that.

“Dominic,” I said again, softer. “Please.”

His arm twitched.

And then, like someone had slowly cracked through that bulletproof armor he always wore, his fingers finally began to loosen around the gun. Inch by inch, breath by breath, the muzzle dipped lower. Gael flinched as it moved, but Dominic’s hand was steady now. His eyes never left the surgeon. When the gun was finally down, he slid it back into his pocket in a jerky, aggressive motion, like the whole thing pissed him off more than anything else in the world.

Gael let out a breath so loud, it echoed. He stumbled back one step, then another. His legs wobbled under him. His torso gleamed with sweat—his chest, his stomach, even his neck glistened like someone had just poured water over him. His hair was plastered to his forehead, and every inch of him looked seconds away from passing out. He pressed his hand to his face, wiping it, and the smell of sharp, acrid panic filled the room, mixing with blood and stale air. He looked like he was going to be sick.

Dominic remained at the hallway entrance, his body like a locked door. He wasn’t stepping aside. Not until he knew Gael wouldn’t bolt.

I stepped forward, not too close, but enough that Gael had to look at me.

“You’ve seen what they’ve said about us, right?” I started, voice low. “The stories online. The photos. The hashtags. People think we’re monsters.”

He swallowed. Didn’t answer.

“I won’t stand here and pretend we’re saints,” I continued. “But what you’ve seen? What the internet turned us into? It’s not all true. Most of it isn’t.”

He licked his lips, eyes flicking between me and Tina on the couch. “Didn’t you… kill the officers at the station? Just to escape?”

“That wasn’t me,” I said without missing a beat. “If it was, I wouldn’t be standing here trying to convince you to help. I’d be halfway across the country.”

Dominic let out a sharp, annoyed sound behind me, half-scoff, half growl.

“And the bodies,” Gael said, voice hoarse now, cracking at the edges. “The ones in the cabin house in the woods. You expect me to believe you didn’t…?”

“She didn’t,” Dominic snapped. “And even if she did, we don’t have time to play ‘believe me or not,’ because Tina…” He pointed, aggressively, almost angrily, “...is dying on that couch, and we need to save her now before she becomes another name on a list. So unless you want her blood on your hands too, you need to do your job, doctor.”

Gael flinched like he’d been slapped.

I stepped in again, my voice trembling, but I didn’t let it break. I let the rawness show. “Gael. Please.” My throat tightened as I looked back at Tina. “She’s the only person who gave us a chance. She patched us up when no one else would even look at us. She helped us. Protected us. And she never asked for anything in return. You want to turn us in after this? Fine. Do it. But please… not before you help her.”

For a moment, nothing. Just heavy silence. Gael stood there, frozen, slick with sweat, eyes wide and spinning with thought. His chest rose and fell, muscles twitching beneath the sheen of panic and indecision.

Then, finally, he looked over at Isabella. His voice came out hollow but steady.

“Get me a first aid kit,” he said. “Fast. Before it’s too late.”

The relief hit me so fast it almost knocked the air out of my lungs. Beside me, Dominic exhaled like a balloon had deflated inside his chest, his shoulders sagging with it. For a second, we didn’t even look at each other, we just breathed, the weight of survival briefly pressing down, then lifting off again.

We still had a chance.

Tina still had a chance.