Page 158 of Chasing Ruin
Healer exhales roughly. “One of Mihai’s men said Tudor took him. I don’t know where. We’ve got Scar locked up at the south entrance—Ryder’s handling him. Hound went back in. Where’s Wolf?”
“Christ,” Bulldog mutters hoarsely. “Hold on.”
In my periphery, I see him pulling out his phone. Healer nods once and rushes off to help the others.
And that’s when I notice—a prospect guiding a group of women and men out through the doors. At least a dozen of them. Some stumbling, some barely conscious.
Healer is already there, moving between them.
They’re rescuing them.
Thank God.
“Wolf, come in,” Bulldog says, followed by a beat of silence. “Wolf, it’s Bull. You there?”
My chest tightens painfully.
“Bull.”
My eyes fall shut at the sound of my brother’s voice. It’s strained—frayed—but relief still seeps through me at the sound of it.
“Bull, I’m here,” his voice crackles. “Is Charlotte okay?”
“She’s okay, Prez. I’m with her.”
“Good.” He exhales, the word breaking slightly. “Listen, I need two men stationed near the northern hall on the first floor. There’s—fuck—there’s women and children here. I need extraction.”
“On it, Wolf.”
Within seconds, Bulldog is barking orders, sending three prospects running—forming a chain from the northern hall, what I now realize must be the general ward, to the west exit where we are.
Time stretches.
Minutes pass.
All I can do is stay on my knees beside Theo, my hand still pressed to his pulse—like if I let go, he might disappear.
I watch the stream of people being brought out—women, children, some half-conscious, some screaming, some so quiet it’s worse.
The air outside feels too sharp. Too clean compared to what we just came from.
A group stumbles past me, guided by two prospects. One of the women lifts her head—and my breath stutters.
Sarah.
Her eyes find mine for a fraction of a second. Recognition flickers and dies just as quickly. Whatever she went through in there hollowed her out. She doesn’t even stop. Just keeps walking like she’s been programmed to move forward and nothing else.
God.
“Owen!” someone calls out.
I turn to see him already working—fast, precise. Another man joins him—Dr. Almonte. They move like a machine, checking pulses, shouting instructions, triaging people on the ground, in the vans, everywhere.
Wolf’s voice crackles through Bulldog’s phone again. “Bull, I’m sending the last remaining people out. Call for medic backup. They’re…” He pauses. I hear the strain, the fury barely leashed. “They need help.”
My chest tightens.
Bull answers immediately, already barking orders into his own comms.
