“You’re bleeding.”
“Then drive fast.”
You stepped forward.
“I’m coming.”
Mateo turned on you.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“This is not an ER. You can’t stitch your way through a gunfight.”
“No, but you can’t rescue a terrified child while bleeding through your abdomen.”
His jaw flexed.
“I said no.”
You moved closer.
“You don’t give orders in public hospitals, remember? You definitely don’t give them to me.”
Elias looked between you and Mateo with the expression of a man watching two storms collide.
Mateo finally said, “If you get hurt—”
“You’ll feel guilty? Good. Add it to the pile.”
The drive to Rose Yard Storage was the longest twenty minutes of your life.
Mateo sat beside you in the back seat, pressing a cloth to his side. His breathing was steady, but too controlled. You had seen enough trauma patients to know when someone was hiding pain by sheer force of will.
You reached for the medical kit Elias had thrown into the car.
Mateo caught your hand.
“No.”
You glared.
“I am trying to keep you conscious long enough to save a child.”
He let go.
You opened his shirt.
The stitches had torn at the center. Blood soaked the gauze. You pressed fresh dressing against the wound, and he sucked in a breath.
“Hurts?” you asked.
“Yes.”
“Good. Pain means you’re alive.”
His eyes found yours.
“That your professional opinion?”
“My personal one.”
For a moment, the car felt too quiet.
Then Mateo said, “Gabriel was brave.”
You froze.
“Don’t.”
“He tried to do the right thing.”
“Don’t make him part of your redemption story.”
“I’m not.”
You looked at him.
His face was drawn with pain, but his eyes were clear.
“I should have come to you when I found the file,” he said. “I told myself I was protecting the case. I was really protecting myself from looking at you and seeing what my family did.”
Your throat tightened.
“I don’t forgive you.”
“I know.”
“I may never.”
“I know.”
The car turned sharply.
Elias said, “Two minutes.”
Mateo checked his gun.
You looked at his hands.
Steady.
Practiced.
You wondered what kind of boy had to become that steady around weapons before he ever became a man.
Then you hated yourself for wondering.
Rose Yard Storage sat behind a chain-link fence near an industrial block lined with tire shops and abandoned brick buildings. The red sign outside was faded, but the letters were visible enough.
R-O-S-E.
Elias parked two streets away.
Mateo leaned forward.
“We do this quietly.”
You grabbed his sleeve.
“We?”
He looked at you.
“You stay in the car.”
You laughed, short and humorless.
“Try again.”
His eyes darkened.
“Sofia.”
“There’s a child in there. If she’s hurt, scared, dehydrated, drugged, anything, you need someone who knows how to help her.”
“And if Julian sees you?”
“Then you better be as dangerous as everyone says.”
That silenced him.
Elias looked like he wanted to object but knew better.
They moved through the back of the storage yard with a precision that made you understand the rumors were not rumors. These men had lived whole lives in violence. You followed in borrowed sneakers, your scrubs still beneath your coat, clutching a medical bag like it was a weapon.
The warehouse door was partly open.
Inside, dust floated through strips of gray light.
Rows of metal shelving divided the space.
You heard voices.
A man laughing softly.
Then a child crying.
Mateo changed.
Not visibly enough for most people.
But you were a nurse. You noticed small changes. The way muscles tightened. The way breathing shifted. The way pain disappeared under purpose.
He moved first.
Everything after that happened too fast.
A shout.
A gun raised.
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