Chapter 26: 𝖄𝖔𝖚'𝖗𝖊 𝕮𝖗𝖆𝖟𝖞—𝖆 𝖂𝖍𝖔𝖑𝖊 𝕷𝖔𝖔𝖘𝖊 𝖓𝖚𝖙.

𝕸𝖆𝖋𝖎𝖆'𝖘 𝕹𝖊𝖒𝖊𝖘𝖎𝖘.

“Where do you think you're taking him?” the hoarse voice grunted —familiar and terrifying.

“Bursted!” Junior whispered, blinking up to Nevena , whose grip only tightened around his wheelchair handle—teeth chattering.

“Back up plan?”

Nevena blinked hard, her ribs screaming, she didn't have any.

"No" she hushed.

The figure stepped forward, the low overhead light catching the sharp outline of a jaw, a badge on a chain.

"I asked a question?" The voice is sharper now—boot echoing closer.

Silence hung thick around Nevena and Junior. Her fingers just white-knuckled on the wheelchair.

"Ma'am...I might have to call the whole security on you" Vargo growled.

Nevena remembered him. The security in charge of the pediatrics ward.

"Sorry Sir" she apologized slowly, voice thin but steady. "I was just taking him out for some fresh air".

“Air?” Vargo questioned in disbelief, voice flat.

“Yeah—just some fresh air, nothing else” Junior cut in with a shrug. “We don't have any plans up our sleeves.”

Nevena’s breath snagged. She softly pinched him , hoping to stop him before he said something else—and jeopardize their whole chance.

But Junior didn’t react to her pinch.

“At 12:11 AM Superstar? Vargo blinked at him suspiciously, arms crossed “You sure your vitals are up for that?”

"I think so," Junior shrugged again. “Hospital's antiseptic got me weird. So we didn't check for time.”

The silence stretched between them as Vargo tried to sink in with their story.

"In that case—can I see your discharge squat?" he tilted his head.

Junior nodded, pulling it out from under his wheels.

Vargo glanced at the paper. “Hmm... not bad. Guess you're stable enough.”

"I told ya", Junior countered, flicking his fingers at Vargo with confidence.

Vargo gave a mix of reluctant grunt and smile, then waved lazily at Nevena.

"How are you related to him?" He asked.

"Ummm...about tha..t" she stuttered sheepishly. "I'm his car..e..give..r"

"What?" Vargo blinked, tilting his head—her accent unmistakeable.

"Nanny" Junior cut in sharply.

"Nanny—?" He sized her demeanor—hoodie sleeves up, which covered most of her face.

"Yes Sir" Nevena gasped, trembling softly.

"Okay then" Vargo replied along with a nod, his tone laced with doubt.

“You’ve got fifteen minutes—Your Mother hasn’t signed the squat yet, so don't go far—stay close to the lot.”

“Sure—Thank you Sir” Junior and Nevena chorused.

Vargo stood, watching as their wheels creaked softly toward the exit.

"That kid is more hyperactive—than the last time I checked".

They made it to the exit. The cool night air hitting Nevena like a baptism. Her lungs filled up sharp and fast.

Junior looked up at the sky, stars stretched above them, indigo and endless.

A sincere smile cracked out his face, like it was the first time he’d ever seen stars.

He turned to look at Nevena, teeth chattering as the wind hit them.

"Best friend—we made it"

“Yes,” she giggled, shoving the hoodie sleeves up and glancing around for a cab.

“Buckle up—I’m committing a felony with a minor, so actively—we need a getaway ride ”

Her vision swam over the busy main road, then settled back on Junior.

She pushed forward, towering over him. "Still time to turn around, My friend." she murmured.

Junior blinked at her. "Still time to complete my abduction."

For a long moment, neither of them said a word. Then she looked over, finally letting herself laugh

“You’re crazy—a whole loose nut.”

Junior grinned at her remark. “You aren't completely innocent—kinda badass.”

"No" Nevena argued “I think I’m stupid Instead.”

"No I think ..Badass" Junior countered.

They continued their argument, until they reached the hospital's pedestrian pavement.

☆☆☆ Maverick 𝖍𝖔𝖘𝖕𝖎𝖙𝖆𝖑 {𝖋𝖔𝖚𝖗𝖙𝖍 𝖋𝖑𝖔𝖔𝖗}12:30 AM☆☆☆

"Talk to me, Lowell." Breanna's voice cracked as she crouched beside his hospital bed. "What the hell happened—Martinez?"

"Martinez?" Lowell coughed, choking on blood.

His voice—wet and raspy—trembled as he repeated the name.

His body was heavily bruised and misshapen, bearing his own share of wounds from the fight.

"Yes... Martinez. Back at the train," Breanna gasped, dropping to her knees to hear him better.

He painstakingly turned to her with one swollen eye and let out a bitter chuckle.

"You winged him just enough," he snarled. "I thought I could finally restrain him... but he looked me in the eye and said—"

He broke off, choking on his own spit. His consciousness flickering.

The cardiac monitor spiked into chaos, the room filling with shrill, sporadic beeps.

Breanna’s eyes darted to the doctor in panic.

"What's happening?" she asked, voice rising.

Already moving, the doctor snapped instructions to the nurses, then turned to her briefly.

"Ma'am, please excuse us," he said firmly. "We're losing him."

Fear immediately gripped Breanna. If anything happened to Lowell, she was finished—court-martialed for sure.

She had embarked on this mission without official clearance, and now he was slipping into death.

Grabbing his hand, she yanked it. "Lowell—Lowell, stay with me. You can do this."

The doctor injected something into Lowell’s IV. Slowly, the cardiac monitor began to settle, its rhythm returning to normal.

His eyelids fluttered. He began again, voice low and strained.

"I tried to cuff him... after you shot him."

"But he looked at me and said... he’d rather be a martyr than a witness."

His eyes closed again, exhaustion overtaking him.

"Really?" Breanna chuckled sadly. "He’d rather be bones than a traitor."

She shook her head. "For a moment, I thought he saluted like a hero, that he was innocent... with that damn departing salute of his."

She slowly stepped out of Lowell’s room, eyes dry—hands clenched tight and face unreadable—stone.

The door whispered shut behind her, sealing in the echoes of beeping monitors and the bitter rasp of Lowell's broken Air pipe.

She moved quickly, taking the elevator down to the third floor.

The pediatrics floor corridor reeked of sterile silence, broken only by the beep of the elevator and the rhythmic thudding of her boots against the linoleum.

Each step striking like gavel blows, Her eyes landed two doors down to her right.

Her son’s hospital room.

A small placard etched in childlike font, glinted faintly under the hallway light.

"Junior S –Unit C"

Her pace faltered—the nurses had called yesterday evening and reminded her about his discharge which was over two days.