Chapter 2

Demi's POV

Yes. I'm pregnant.

I found out right before the mission came in.

I was going to wait until it was over and surprise Beckett. I had the whole thing pictured in my head — the way he'd pick me up and spin me around, the way he'd press his hand against my stomach, careful and gentle, like he was holding something that could break.

We'd been waiting for this for a long time.

I used to imagine what the three of us would look like. A kid with his eyes, that same clear, steady look. Weekends at the park, him holding my hand, me holding theirs, the sun out and a light breeze.

None of that's real. It never was. It was just something I let myself believe.

The mark on my collarbone goes warm. Beckett's companion's voice comes through.

"Beckett, Demi's not going to make it much longer. She's —"

"Don't."

Beckett cuts him off, and there's something tight underneath, like he's forcing himself not to care. "I can't keep listening to this. It's almost over. I'm calling the base now, getting a team ready to pull her out."

"I'll make it up to her. I will."

The fugitives close in around me, grinning, new tools in their hands.

I don't have anything left to fight with. I just close my eyes and let it happen.

The pain is beyond anything words can cover.

I feel something leaving me, slipping away piece by piece — a life that never even had the chance to take shape.

It goes cold. Just blood. And whatever I had left for Beckett goes with it.

Pain.

The kind that doesn't stay in your body. It gets into everything. Grinds you down to nothing.

These are people who've seen everything. And even they can't keep watching.

Time stops meaning anything.

Then Beckett's voice cuts through, urgent, pushing through.

"Demi? Demi, can you hear me? I've been trying to reach you. Just hang on. We're pulling a team together right now. We're coming. Don't give up on me."

"Once we finish this and bring these guys in, I can stay on earth. Permanently. I'm coming for you. Wait for me."

I listen. A slow, bitter smile pulls at my mouth.

If I hadn't heard what I heard earlier, I might have actually believed him. It all sounds so real. Every word shaped like it was made just for me.

But now I hear it for what it is. All that talk about making it up to me, staying with me forever — that's what you say to keep someone useful and in line. I'm his Chosen One. Can't die. So I can be used, can be spent, dealt with later, once the job is done.

He figured I'd still be here waiting.

The fugitives cut me down from the chain and drop me in the corner like trash.

I curl up on the cold concrete floor, drifting in and out of consciousness, losing track of time.

Then the noise hits all at once outside. The door gets kicked open. Gunshots. Shouting.

"Nobody move! Federal agents!"

The SWAT team floods in, and the fugitives who try to fight back get taken down fast.

Beckett is first through the door.

He scans the warehouse, finds me in the corner, and covers the distance in a few strides. He drops to one knee and lifts me up off the ground.

His arms are as warm as I remember. That same scent I used to feel safe in. Right now it turns my stomach.

"Demi, I'm sorry. I should've been here sooner." He holds me close, voice unsteady, and reaches up to wipe the blood from my face. "It's over. We got them. Let's go home."

I look up at him.

"You told me the mark meant you'd always know when I was in danger. That you'd come for me no matter what."

Beckett's expression stiffens. He looks down, voice going rough. "I know. I'm sorry. I panicked. I wasn't thinking straight, and I forgot about the mark."

He knows how bad that sounds. He can't even finish the thought, and he won't meet my eyes.

He grabs some clothing from one of the team members, wraps it carefully around me, and carries me out.

The team members who see me go quiet. These are people who've seen the worst of it their whole careers. One by one, they look away.

I get taken straight into surgery.

Infection. Blood loss. The damage too extensive to work through quickly. The surgery drags on, one complication after another. The anesthesia barely works, but I don't have the energy to make a sound anyway. I just lie there and let the pain come in waves.

The last thing I hear before I go under is a quiet voice in the room.

"We lost the heartbeat. And the uterus — we can't save it. She won't be able to have children."