Chapter 45

Between Ruble and Relief.

My legs were trapped, knees down by a steel crossbeam and what felt like half the damn ceiling. Chunks of concrete pressed into the soft flesh of my thighs, anchoring me to the floor like a crucifixion built in rubble. My boots were wedged so tight I couldn’t even wiggle my toes. I’d tried. Once. The pain had screamed up through my nerves like wildfire. But it wasn’t just my legs. A second beam, thicker, heavier, had come down across my chest. It wasn’t crushing me completely, but it pressed just below my collarbone with a steady, merciless weight. Every breath felt like trying to inflate a balloon inside a vise. My ribs were fractured, maybe worse. I could feel the way they shifted when I inhaled, scraping against each other like broken glass inside a velvet bag. Blood had started to seep steadily from somewhere along my side, soaking down beneath my shirt and into the waistband of my pants. It was warm, too warm. My right arm was pinned awkwardly above my head, bent in a way that wasn’t natural. I couldn’t feel anything below the shoulder. It dangled uselessly, nerve- dead. My left hand, mercifully free, was slick with grit and blood, fingers twitching against the cold, cracked concrete. I tilted my head toward Liam’s voice, trying to keep my tone even despite the pressure on my chest.

“Trapped,” I rasped, my voice hoarse. “Legs pinned. Beam across my chest. Ribs feel like shattered glass. Right arm’s out. Breathing hurts like a bitch. But I’m conscious.”

There was a pause. A breath. Then Liam swore quietly, the word full of helplessness and fury.

“Fuck.”

“Language,” Naomi mumbled through a cough, her voice loopy but steady. “This is a wholesome group trauma experience.”

Despite the pain, a small laugh caught in my throat, sharp and cutting. I exhaled it, slow and shallow, then closed my eyes. The dust still danced in the weak beam of Liam’s fallen flashlight, swirling like ghosts. My heart pounded against the weight on my chest. We weren’t dead. Yet.