I reached for his coat, but his back arched, and I scanned up to his pained face—God, I’d missed this face—then took the scruff-softened angles between my palms without thinking. Motion in my peripherals told me that the other searchers had arrived. Too late. Too late. Always too late.

“I’m here,” I told him, looking into eyes so dark, they swallowed me whole. “We’ve got this,” I promised when I had no right to, forcing optimism into my tone with an exaggerated nod and a shaky smile. “Help is coming.”

His eyes were wide as he struggled for a breath that wouldn’t come, his fear palpable as his gaze dropped down my frame and over my white coat, frantically searching.

“I’m okay. I’m not hit. You are,” I assured him. Idiot. Like that would comfort him. “I need to see how bad it is.”

His hands reached between us, fumbling at his coat.

I jolted back, gently brushing his hands out of the way. “Let me.”

He’s okay. He’s okay. He’s okay. You can’t take him, too. Do you understand? You took Sullivan. You can’t have Cam.

Cam’s lungs wheezed as the first stream of air made its way in. My eyes flew to his, finding them already on me, his brow slightly furrowed as he struggled for more air.

I unzipped his coat in one long pull and steeled myself for whatever lay underneath.

“Jesus, Cam!” Gideon cursed as he hit his knees on Cam’s other side.

“Arthur shot him.” My shaking hands opened his coat, revealing an expanse of dark fabric with several holes ripping apart the weave where the buckshot hit him. Where was the blood? “It’s too dark! I can’t see!”

“I’m. Fine,” Cam forced out with a rasp of breath.

A click sounded as Gideon powered on his flashlight.

“Shut up,” I ordered. “Stupid man can’t even tell when he’s been—” Light shone on Cam’s chest and reflected back on tiny bits of shiny metal like a lone constellation in an otherwise dark sky. “Wait. What?”

“Son of a bitch!” Gideon laughed, shaking the flashlight with heaving breaths as he looked over his shoulder. “He’s fine!”

“I. Said. I’m fine,” Cam growled.

“How? You’re shot…” And I could see the bullets—buckshot. Defying all logical thought, I dipped my finger into a tiny hole and felt cool metal pressing back. I let my fingers trail down Cam’s hard—too hard—chest.

“Pika, stop.” Cam captured my hand, then flattened it, pressing my palm against the unnaturally hard surface of his chest. “I’m okay. Just had the wind knocked out of me.” He let go of my hand and unsnapped a clip up by his shoulder and another at his side. Velcro ripped. A giant piece of… What the heck is that?