The doors slammed open, and chaos surged in with the paramedics. Blood was everywhere—on the floor, on her shirt, on Eddie's hands. His voice cracked as he shouted her name, but Maya didn't move. She was still, her eyes closed, lips slightly parted like she'd just exhaled a secret. For one gut-wrenching second, no one breathed.
"She's got a pulse!" one of them yelled.
Eddie dropped to his knees, a sound like a sob and a prayer escaping his throat. Zeke grabbed Luna's hand so tight it turned pale. Sally was frozen, her mouth trembling, her eyes wide and wet. But Maya didn't move.
She wasn't dead. But she wasn't awake either.
The stretcher lifted her limp body, and as they wheeled her out, the world blurred around her. Everything was noise and light and voices calling her name. But not to Maya. Not really. She was stuck in this strange nowhere—a limbo. She didn't hear them. She didn't feel the stretcher beneath her. But she saw. Faces moved above her like ghosts—panicked, crying, familiar. Eddie. Sally. Luna. But not the faces she wanted.
Her eyes fluttered open for just a second.
She scanned them, weak and desperate. Dad? Mom? Just once, just one more time, she needed to see them. But all she saw was Eddie—his face twisted in a raw, broken scream she couldn't hear. He was trying to reach her, and he looked like someone ripping apart inside. And then—
Blackness.
"Does she have any family?" a paramedic barked.
"I'm with her!" Eddie shoved past Mr. Thompson, climbing into the ambulance like it was the only thing keeping him alive too.
Mr. Thompson could barely speak. He stood there, stunned, with his wife clutching his arm, staring at their son like he was disappearing right in front of them.
Inside the ambulance, Eddie held Maya's hand. Her blood soaked into his jeans. He whispered her name like a lifeline. "Maya, please. Please stay. Just stay."
Her eyes fluttered open again—and there he was. Eddie, broken and crying, holding her like she was slipping through the cracks of this world.
And then she slipped.
Her body twitched, her head fell back, and the monitor shrieked.
"She's crashing—she's losing blood fast!" the medic yelled.
They pulled the paddles. "Charging!"
"Clear!"
Her body jolted. Once. Twice.
Eddie was screaming. "Do something!"
"Again—clear!"
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Weak. Fragile. But there.
They reached the hospital, racing through white hallways that smelled like bleach and urgency. Doctors yelled codes, nurses cleared paths. Maya was swallowed whole by machines, wires, beeping, and blood. She was gone from sight before Eddie even realized he'd been left standing alone, her warm hand gone from his.
They handed him a plastic bag.
Her backpack. Her phone. A charm bracelet she always wore.
It shattered him.
Sally even though she was in a wheelchair she still insisted on coming with luna . Zeke came running too. All their parents followed, whispering, sobbing. They tried calling Maya's parents, again and again. Voicemail. Silence. Nothing.
Eddie snapped.
He stormed out, Mr. Thompson on his heels. They drove through silent streets, headlights cutting through the dark until they reached the Sinclair villa edge of the city.
Eddie banged on the door.
Mr. Sinclair opened it shirtless, a beer in hand, two women giggling behind him. His eyes were glassy. Unbothered.
"What the hell—?"
"Your daughter might not live past tonight," Eddie shouted.
Mr. Sinclair blinked.
"What?"
"There was a school shooting," Mr. Thompson cut in. "Maya was shot. She's in critical condition. She might die."
The color drained from the man's face. The beer slipped from his hand, shattered on the floor.
Eddie lost it.
"You're a disgrace," he spat. "You don't deserve her. You left her, hurt her, ignored her—and now she might die, and where the hell were you? Drunk? With strangers?"
Mr. Sinclair collapsed against the wall, trembling, silent.
Mr. Sinclair pulled out his phone, his voice shaking as he called Maya's mother. She answered with ice in her voice.
"Why are you calling me?"
"Maya's in the hospital," he said.
A pause.
"She's been shot. I don't know if she's going to make it."
He heard her collapse through the phone.
He gave her the hospital name.
By the time they returned, Maya was out of surgery. But she wasn't awake.
Still stuck. Still in that gray space where time didn't exist. Her body lay still under white sheets, but inside, her mind flickered like a dying candle.
She heard whispers. Crying. Someone calling her name. Her father's voice. Her mother's sobs. Apologies and regret tangled in the air like smoke.
Her father was by her side, holding her cold hand, whispering apologies over and over.
"I was a coward, Maya. I should've protected you. I should've loved you better. I stole your childhood, and now—I might've stolen your future too."
Her mother sobbed uncontrollably, pressing her forehead to Maya's shoulder. "Come back to me. Please. I'll be better. I'll fight for you. I'll never leave again."
Eddie couldn't be in the room.
He was in the hallway, curled up on the bench, shaking. His mother tried to talk to him, but he didn't hear. He just stared at the bracelet in his hand—the one Maya wore every day. The one she joked was her "good luck charm."
He hadn't slept. He hadn't eaten. He just kept seeing her fall. Over and over. The blood. The silence. The look in her eyes before they closed.
Inside the coma, Maya floated.
She heard the voices. Her father. Her mother. Eddie.
So much pain. So much love. But it all felt so far away. Like she was behind a wall of glass, banging to get out but no one could hear.
She wanted to cry.
She wanted to scream.
She wanted to live.
She didn't want to be a memory.
But her body didn't move.
Only her soul felt the weight of everyone breaking without her.
And still, she stayed silent.