The helicopter banked hard, racing toward the hospital.
*
Danielle was rushed straight into the trauma bay.
Miraculously, they managed to stabilize her vitals, but whether she would pull through completely depended on the next few hours.
When Sloane stepped out of the resus room, she found Logan pacing the corridor.
"How is she?" he demanded, his voice thick with panic. In just a few short hours, the man had aged ten years, looking so frantic that a dark shadow of stubble already shadowed his jawline.
Sloane's heart sank.
But she knew that in this moment, she had to be the doctor, not the wife.
"She's incredibly resilient. She's suffering from severe hypothermia, but her life is no longer in immediate danger. I'm confident she'll make a full recovery, but we need to keep her in the ICU for observation."
Logan seized Sloane's hand. "Thank God. As long as she's alive!"
"She's going to be fine," Sloane reassured him softly.
But she knew her comfort meant nothing right now, because Logan's entire universe had just violently realigned itself around Danielle.
She pulled her hand away. "I have rounds to finish on the other patients."
"Of course. Go," Logan agreed without a second thought.
She turned away.
But after she took a few steps, Logan suddenly called out, "Sloane!"
"Yes?"
Logan closed the distance between them. His eyes were shadowed with an immense, exhausting guilt. "Danielle... she's my comrade. She's saved my life more than once, and she's sacrificed so much for me. Now that she's hurt, I need to stay by her side and take care of her for a while."
Sloane felt as if a blade were slowly twisting in her chest.
But she masked the devastation flawlessly, nodding as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Life-or-death situations always laid bare the truth of the heart.
It was glaringly obvious that Logan had already made his choice.
"I understand. Taking care of your squad is your duty."

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