Jayce's rigid posture finally broke, the jagged edges of his fury smoothing into a hollow, aching desperation as he saw the first tear track through the grime on Hazel's cheek. He stepped into her space, his large, blood-stained hands trembling slightly as he pulled her 5'3" frame into the solid wall of his chest, tucking her head under his chin. He held her with a fierce, protective grip, his heart thudding against her ear in a frantic rhythm that whispered you're alive, you're alive, you're alive. Hazel buried her face in his dark coat, her breath hitching against the leather as the adrenaline crashed into a wave of bone-deep exhaustion. For a heartbeat, the hospital, the blood, and the metallic tang of the gun vanished, replaced only by the heat radiating between them. But the sanctuary was shattered by three measured, rhythmic knocks on the heavy oak door. Jayce didn't let go immediately; he squeezed her tighter for one last second, a silent promise, before straightening his shoulders and turning toward the door just as it swung open. Standing in the threshold was Detective Elena Vance, a woman whose appearance felt entirely out of place in the grim grit of a crime scene. She was in her mid-40s with an athletic, lithe build that suggested she spent her mornings on a track and her evenings in a gym, but it was her face that stopped people—striking, symmetrical, and possessing a super-model elegance that usually made suspects talk just to keep her looking at them. Her piercing green eyes swept over the bruised, towering man and the shaking nurse, taking in the blood and the lingering scent of cordite with a practiced, clinical calm. "I need a statement on why a registered nurse just performed a tactical execution in a pediatric ward," Vance said, her voice surprisingly soft, almost melodic, though it carried the weight of a gavel. Jayce stepped in front of Hazel, his shadow partially obscuring her as his mind raced to find a lie that would hold up under that emerald gaze. "It wasn't her, Detective," Jayce said, his voice dropping into a low, gravelly lie. "The suspect fumbled the weapon during the struggle. I redirected the barrel—my hand was on the grip when it discharged. Hazel was just... she was trying to get the kid out of the line of fire." Detective Vance tilted her head, a stray lock of blonde hair falling over her shoulder as she looked at Hazel's hands, then back to Jayce's fractured face. "That's a very gallant story, Jayce," she murmured, stepping into the room and closing the door behind her with a soft click. "But the powder burns on her scrubs are going to tell a very different tale. So, why don't we try the truth before the Captain gets up here and starts looking for someone to suspend?"
The soft, melodic tone of Detective Vance's voice proved to be a deceptive velvet glove over a fist of pure iron. Despite the silent plea in Jayce's eyes and the way he tried to shield Hazel with his own body, Vance didn't blink. She watched as the Captain, a towering, gray-haired man with a temperament like a Category 5 hurricane, stormed into the room. "Vance! Tell me my shooter is a professional and not a liability," the Captain bellowed, his voice echoing off the sterile walls. Jayce opened his mouth to repeat the lie, his heart hammering against his ribs, but Vance beat him to it. "It was the nurse, Captain," she said, her green eyes cold and professional as she pointed a manicured finger toward Hazel. "Hazel Miller fired the shot. No license, no tactical training, and she compromised a crime scene to do it."
The fallout was instantaneous and brutal. Within minutes, the Hospital Administrator was summoned, and the atmosphere in the small room turned from high-stakes drama to a cold, bureaucratic execution. "Hazel, I can't look the other way on this," the Administrator sighed, looking at the floor rather than Hazel's tear-streaked face. "Shooting a suspect in a patient's room, regardless of the outcome, violates every protocol we have. Effective immediately, you are suspended until further notice. Your credentials are locked, and your badge is to be surrendered to security before you leave the premises."
Hazel felt the world drop out from under her feet; the hospital was her life, her sanctuary, and the only thing that had kept her sane during the three years Jayce was gone. She slowly reached for the clip on her scrubs, her scarred fingers trembling as she unhooked her ID badge and placed it on the table with a hollow clack. Jayce stood by, his jaw clenched so tight it looked like it might shatter. He wanted to scream, to burn the building down for punishing her for her bravery, but he knew his presence only made her look more guilty. He watched as two security guards hovered at the door, ready to escort the woman he loved out of the building like a common criminal.