Roman emerged from the fog first, walking ahead of the SUV as it rolled slowly behind him. His black suit was immaculate, save for a few leaves clinging to his shoulders. His expression remained as unreadable as ever. Though Victor, who had worked with him for seven years, noticed the slight tension in his jaw, the way his knuckles were white. Behind him, Dean was driving, with Matt in the passenger seat. Both men’s faces were carved from stone.
Roman’s gaze immediately snapped to Ellen’s still form, then to Maya, then to Victor. “Status?” — “Stable but critical,” Victor reported. “Pulse is getting stronger. No signs of internal bleeding, but she needs proper medical care. Hypothermia is setting in.” Roman nodded once, then knelt beside Maya.
The little girl looked at him with wide eyes, searching his face for something. Answers, comfort, confirmation of what she had heard in the distance. “Your mother is being taken to a safe place,” Roman said. His voice was quiet but clear. “Doctors will take care of her. You’ll be with her the whole time.” — “What about those men?” Maya whispered. Roman held her gaze. “They won’t bother anyone ever again.”
Something about the simplicity of that statement, the absolute certainty, made Maya’s shoulders drop slightly, as if a weight she’d been carrying had finally been lifted. She didn’t ask how. She didn’t ask what happened. Some truths didn’t need explaining. “Thank you,” she breathed. Roman stood up, not acknowledging the thanks, already moving to help Victor lift Ellen. They worked in synchronized silence.
Roman supported her shoulders while Victor took her legs, carefully transferring her to the back seat of the SUV. Dean had already laid out an extra blanket over the leather, preparing a makeshift gurney. “Maya, get in,” Roman instructed, holding the door open. The girl scrambled inside, immediately positioning herself next to her mother. One small hand gripped Ellen’s cold fingers. Roman slid in after her, his large frame filling the remaining space.
Victor moved to the front passenger seat, and Dean stayed behind the wheel. “Let’s go,” Roman said simply. The SUV backed down the narrow trail with surprising agility. Dean’s hands were steady on the wheel despite the treacherous terrain. Branches scraped against the windows like skeletal fingers trying to hold them back. The fog pressed in close, making it nearly impossible to see more than ten feet ahead. But Dean had driven worse roads in worse conditions; his eyes never left the path.
In the back seat, Roman monitored Ellen’s breathing, his fingers resting lightly on her wrist, tracking the pulse. Weak, but present. Steady. The human body was remarkably resilient when given a chance. Maya watched him with an intensity that might have been uncomfortable if Roman cared about comfort. “Are you a doctor?” she asked. — “No.” — “But you know what to do?” — “I’ve seen enough trauma to know when someone is going to make it.” — “And my mom is going to make it?” Roman’s dark eyes met hers.
“Yes.” The certainty in that single word seemed to anchor something inside Maya. Her grip on her mother’s hand loosened slightly. The panic that had driven her for hours finally began to recede. The SUV broke out of the forest trail onto the main highway. The acceleration was smooth and immediate. The fog was thinning as they left the woods behind. Morning light was breaking through the gray clouds overhead. “ETA?” Roman asked. — “Twelve minutes,” Dean replied.
His foot pressed harder on the gas. The speedometer climbed steadily. Victor pulled out a phone, typing quickly. “The medical team is on-site at the house. Operating room is prepped if needed. Blood supply is ready.” — “Good.” Maya’s head darted between the men, processing the efficiency of their communication, the way they moved like parts of a single machine.
“Where are we going? You said not a hospital.” — “A safer place,” Roman replied. “Somewhere where the people who hurt your mother have no connections, no influence, no way to finish what they started.” Maya hesitated, glancing back at the forest vanishing behind them. “They aren’t going to finish anything, are they?” — “No.” The word hung in the air, final as a closing door.
The SUV ate up the miles, the luxury suspension smoothing out the bumps in the road that would have jarred a lesser vehicle. Inside, Ellen’s breathing began to deepen slightly, her body’s survival mechanisms slowly kicking in now that she was warm, horizontal, and relatively safe. “She moved,” Maya said suddenly, her voice sharp with hope. “Her fingers, I felt them move.” Victor turned in his seat to look.
“Reflex. Her nervous system is coming back online. That’s good.” — “But she’s not waking up?” — “Not yet. Maybe not for a few hours. Her mind needs time to process what happened. Sometimes the body heals faster than the brain allows.” Maya absorbed this, her thumb stroking her mother’s hand in small, repetitive circles. “Will she remember what they did?” — “Probably,” Victor said honestly, “but memories lose their teeth over time, especially when you outlive them.”
“I’ll remember too,” Maya said quietly. “Forever.” Roman glanced at her, his expression unreadable. “Yes, you will.” — “Is that bad?” — “It depends on what you do with the memory.” Maya thought about that, her young mind working through concepts most children never have to consider. “What should I do with it?” — “Survive. Get stronger. Make sure nobody ever has that kind of power over you again.”
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