I pulled out my phone, my fingers moving with deliberate precision as I opened SERA. The screen illuminated my face in a cold, blue glow, casting sharp shadows as I scrolled through the details of Sarah's accident. The information unfolded like a crime scene report, each line a fresh wound.

Days ago, Sarah had taken down Edgar Ramírez, a mid-level dealer in Javier Bardem's empire. Javier wasn't just a kingpin—he was a god in these streets, his influence stretching from the bloodstained alleys of this city to the penthouses of America. A billion-dollar drug lord didn't forgive interference. He erased it.

Edgar's arrest had cost Javier millions in seized product. But the drugs were already gone, stolen back from police evidence by Officer Diaz, a cop whose badge was as rotten as his soul.

Javier's message was clear: No one touched his empire and walked away. He'd already proven it by killing Sarah's brother, Peter, in the same brutal fashion—an "accident" that wasn't. A warning. A signature.

I closed the file, my jaw clenched so tight my teeth ached. My fingers twitched, itching to act, to hunt, to paint the streets red with Javier's blood. But I forced myself to stillness, my gaze drifting back to Sarah.

How would she react when she woke? When she learned this wasn't just an accident, but a declaration of war?

The night dragged on, the silence broken only by the occasional rustle of a nurse checking Sarah's vitals, the soft hum of machines, and the distant wail of another ambulance. I sat there, watching, waiting, the weight of my power pressing against my ribs like a caged beast.

Morning light crept through the blinds, painting stripes of gold across Sarah's face. A nurse suggested soup, fruit, and something gentle for when she woke. Marina, rubbing sleep from her eyes, slipped out to fetch it, leaving me alone with Sarah.

I studied her—the dark smudges beneath her eyes, the way her lips parted slightly with each breath, as if she were whispering secrets in her sleep. My gaze drifted lower.

The hospital gown they'd dressed her in was flimsy, tied at the front with a single row of buttons. But the fabric was cheap, the buttons misaligned. And there, just beneath the gap where the second button should have been, was the soft swell of her breast. The gown had shifted in her sleep, the fabric parting just enough to reveal the delicate curve of her skin, the faintest shadow of her areola.

And then—there it was.

A peek of brown, the tight, perfect bud of her nipple, just visible beneath the fabric. My breath hitched. The sight was innocent, accidental, but it sent a jolt of heat straight to my core. I should have looked away. I should have adjusted the gown, spared her the embarrassment of waking exposed.

But I didn't.

Instead, I found myself leaning closer, my pulse quickening. The air between us felt charged, electric. I could almost taste the warmth of her skin, imagine the way she'd gasp if I reached out, if I let my fingers trace the line of her collarbone, dip lower—

A sharp knock at the door shattered the moment.

I jerked back, my heart hammering against my ribs. The nurse entered, her expression professional, oblivious to the storm inside me. "She's stirring," she said softly, her gaze flicking to Sarah. "She'll wake soon."

I exhaled, running a hand over my face. Now wasn't the time.

Sarah's eyelids fluttered open, her gaze unfocused, dazed. "Where… am I?" Her voice was rough, like gravel underfoot.

I reached out, gently brushing a strand of hair from her forehead. "You're in the hospital. You were in an accident."

She blinked, her eyes slowly focusing on me. "Jack…?" Confusion clouded her face, but then her expression sharpened. "What the hell happened?" She tried to lift her hands, but the plaster casts restricted her movement. Frustration flashed across her face. "Why can't I move my arms?"

"They're just fractures," I said, keeping my voice steady. "Minor injuries. You'll heal fast."

She swallowed, her throat working as she processed my words. Then her eyes locked onto mine, sharp and demanding. "My phone. I need my phone. Now."

I hesitated. "It was in your car."

Her breath hitched. "Then go get it."

"Sarah…" I exhaled slowly. "Your car caught fire. There was an explosion."

She went still. For a long moment, she just stared at me, her face pale. Then, her voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. "What did you just say?"

"You were hit by a truck. It didn't stop. Your car… it went up in flames."

She closed her eyes, her chest rising and falling rapidly. When she opened them again, they burned with fury. "Give. Me. Your. Phone."

I handed it to her without argument. She fumbled with the screen, her fingers clumsy with the casts. "Dial for me," she snapped. "I can't—" She cut herself off, frustration twisting her features.

She rattled off a number, and I dialed, putting it on speaker. The line picked up after two rings. "Hello? Who is this?" A man's voice, gruff and authoritative.

"Sir, it's Officer Sarah." Her voice was tight, but steady.

"Sarah!" The man's tone shifted instantly, concern thickening his words. "I heard about your accident. Damn it, kid, you had us all worried. How are you holding up?"

"I've been better," she said dryly. "Sir, I need to know— if the culprit has been caught?"

A pause. Then, carefully: "We're still working on it. You focus on healing. We'll handle the rest."

Sarah's jaw tightened. "Sir, I need to—"

"That's an order, Officer," he cut in, his voice firm but not unkind. "Rest. Heal. We'll brief you when you're back on your feet."

She exhaled sharply, her fingers curling into fists against the bedsheet. "Yes, Sir."

I ended the call, watching her. She was trembling—not from fear, but from barely leashed rage.

The door swung open. Marina stood there, her arms full of bags—soup, fruit, the scent of fresh oranges filling the room. Her face lit up when she saw Sarah awake. "Officer Sarah! You're up!" She hurried to the bedside, setting the bags down. "I'll go get the doctors!"

Marina rushed out, returning moments later with a team of doctors. They checked Sarah's vitals, examined her casts, and after a few minutes, the lead doctor nodded. "She's stable. You can take her home. Just make sure she takes her medication, rests, and comes back in a week."

Sarah didn't acknowledge them. Her eyes were fixed on the wall, her mind clearly elsewhere.

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