In the third drawing, she’d captured him in devastating detail. He recognized the setting—back at the campground. Raw emotion etched in pencil strokes—longing mixed with pain, loss tangled with self-recrimination. The guy in this image was drowning. Punishing himself for something he couldn’t have prevented.
That guy was him.
For the first time, Noah’s words made sense.Certain things only God can heal.
He closed his eyes against the revelation.
He couldn’t lose her.
Footsteps approached. He looked up to see a petite, toned woman with short red hair and deep-green eyes walking toward him. She wore a pair of black cargo pants, Converse shoes, and a green T-shirt. “Are you Liam?”
He nodded, stood. Alert. Gripped the bag with one hand while eyeing the exit.
She extended her hand. “Emberly.”
“Nimue’s sister?” Some tension leaked from his shoulders.
She nodded and gestured to the man beside her. “This is Steinbeck Kingston.”
Steinbeck offered his hand. Solid grip, kind eyes. But yeah, he appeared ex-military with his strong build, his calculating eyes. Light-brown hair cropped short, a sort of don’t-mess-around aura.
Liam liked him.
“She’s still in surgery.” Liam’s throat felt raw. “Hours now. You might get more information than I have. Family and all.”
“She’s tough.” Emberly crossed her arms, her mouth tight. She glanced up at Steinbeck. “She’ll pull through.”
Steinbeck nodded.
The double doors swung open. A doctor in green scrubs approached, face tired but composed. “Family of Nimue…?”
Liam’s heart sped up, triple time.
“I’m her sister.” Emberly stepped forward.
He was the outsider here. The realization hit like cold water.
The doctor glanced at him, then lowered her voice. “Nimue made it through surgery. I’ll be honest—it was touch and go. We nearly lost her. Her heart stopped once, but we got her back. She’s weak, and the next few hours are critical, but she’s stable. One family member can see her.”
We nearly lost her.The words echoed in his skull.
Emberly squeezed Steinbeck’s hand, then followed the doctor down the hallway without looking back.
Nimue had almost died.
And it would’ve been his fault. He’d walked away from her, angry. She’d been coming after him when the ledge gave way.
Reckless people got other people killed.
Just like with Christiana.
“I’ll be outside,” he mumbled to Steinbeck, who nodded absently while texting rapid-fire on his phone.
In the parking lot, the morning sun was just peeking above the horizon. He’d been hoping the night would’ve cooled things off. But with Vegas’s elevation being six thousand feet lower than the North Rim, it was enough to make a big difference. Even now the heat still radiated from the asphalt as if yesterday’s furnace was still burning. Everything felt too warm. Too close. Too much.
He made it to his ’72 Bronco—parked crooked in his haste—and climbed inside. Familiar smells of old leather and dust should have grounded him.
Instead, memories flooded back. Nimue’s laugh. Her teasing. That perfect kiss in the cave. Her scream as she disappeared.