Vivian sat hunched over in the back of an ambulance, looking at her arm. A medic had torn the sleeve away and tidied the cut up, but it still looked pretty bad. The vehicle's interior was a small cave of sterile light, buzzing with the electric pulse of machinery and the sharp tang of antiseptics. The medic who had been helping, a young man with hands as steady as a clockmaker's, was starting to wrap gauze around Vivian's arm with methodical precision. His brow furrowed in concentration as he peered at her through the narrow frames of his glasses.
“This is quite a gash,” he said. “Definitely going to need stitches. And I’d recommend a CT scan too, just to rule out any concussion. You took a nasty hit on the head when you fell, it seems.”
The words “stitches” and “concussion” floated through Vivian's adrenaline-fueled haze, her focus still clinging to the remnants of the struggle with Stone. Pain began to announce itself, shy at first, then growing bolder, insistent, throbbing in time with her racing heart. She blinked slowly, trying to ground herself in the here-and-now, away from the violent recollections of what had taken place in the alley.
Before she could respond, Sterling appeared at the threshold of the ambulance, his tall figure cutting a stark outline against the chaos of the scene outside. The alley beside Vucko’s had been taped off and there were currently a few cops ducking in and out of it. Sterling’s face was inscrutable, but his eyes held a flicker of something that might have been relief or concern—or both.
"Vivian," Sterling said, his voice carrying the weight of authority and the trace of a British accent that somehow always seemed to assert control over any situation.
“Uh oh,” she said. “You used my first name. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” But she thought he might be a bit shaken up by the injury she’d endured. Maybe he’d been more worried about her than he’d let on. “Stone's on the way to a holding cell, after seeing a doctor. And together with a few of the cops on the scene, we’ve got enough from just his phone to put him away; the search history alone is damning. He was meticulous with his crimes, but not with covering his digital tracks."
Vivian nodded at the update, a silent acknowledgement of the closure they had sought, the end of a hunt that she’d once feared would get away from them.
"And again," Sterling said. “Good work.”
Vivian merely managed a half-smile as their gazes locked. She saw it then… yes, he had been worried about her. Not because of the cut to her arm, but because for a moment, she’d been alone in a darkened alleyway with a killer and he’d been helpless to do anything about it.
"In other news,” Sterling went on, “the fourth victim is stable." He leaned against the cool metal frame of the ambulance doorway, his shape backlit by the flashing blue lights from the window of Vucko’s. "His name is Bryce Brentwood and he is indeed an art appraiser. Though when we asked him, he had no idea who Thomas Stone was. As for his cut, it wasn't deep. He'll be stitched up and on his way home by morning—much like you."
"Good," Vivian breathed out. She recalled the moment she’d nearly frozen at the mouth of that alley and wondered how differently things might be for Mr. Brentwood if she’d taken even a single second longer to snap to her senses.
Sterling's eyes lingered on her for a moment longer before he turned to the medic. "Can we have a moment?" he asked, his tone polite yet firm enough to indicate that he wasn’t really asking a question.
"Sure, I'll just be outside if you need me," the medic replied, casting a professional glance at Vivian's arm before stepping out into the night. The doors remained open, the crisp air mingling with the sterile scent of the ambulance.
Once they were alone, Sterling hoisted himself up into the vehicle, sitting across from her. The confined space seemed smaller with his broad shoulders filling the gap between them. "What a great job you did," he admitted, his face serious, eyes reflecting pride—and something akin to fear. "But you took a hell of a risk back there. I appreciate the grit, but going after Stone by yourself… that was a gamble."
Vivian met his intense gaze squarely. "If I hadn't acted, Stone would've slipped through our fingers. Someone else could have died." Her words came out harsher than intended. "I had to do it."
Sterling nodded, conceding the point with a short sigh. "I know," he said, and for a moment, the weight of everything they'd been through seemed to settle between them. The distant murmurs of EMTs and cops coordinating outside faded into the background as Sterling's gaze held hers, acknowledging this pivotal step in their partnership. He valued her a bit more, saw that she was capable of more than he’d originally thought.
"I've called Garnett with an update," Sterling said, breaking the gaze. The overhead light of the ambulance cast shadows across his face, lending him an even more austere look than usual. “That includes your visit to the hospital. Is there anything you need?”
"No," she replied. “Just some prayers and hopes for the CT to not show a concussion.”
“Well, I can do that, I suppose.”
Another silence lingered between them, and she could sense the moment of bonding or evolution or whatever was dwindling. "You know," Vivian suddenly said, "rushing after Stone... it made me realize how much safer I feel when you're with me." It was an admission she didn't make lightly, and it hung in the air, almost palpable in its intensity.
Sterling's expression softened further, a small, almost imperceptible shift. "That's what partners are for," he said, the corners of his mouth lifting into a half-smile. In that smile, she read a hundred silent conversations, a bond forged through danger and the sort of trust and reliance she’d never experienced before.
Silence stretched out, filling the space with unspoken words and shared experiences. Then, with a suddenness that caught her off guard, Sterling leaned forward. His lips grazed her forehead in an innocent, friendly kiss—a gesture so unexpected from the usually stoic man that it warmed her more than any blanket could. She knew there was nothing romantic in the gesture, but she still felt her cheeks go slightly red.
He pulled back, his eyes locking onto hers once more before he stood up, ducking slightly to avoid hitting his head on the low ceiling. "Take care, Fox," he murmured, then turned and opened the doors to hop down from the ambulance.
The medic reentered the vehicle again, his movements brisk and businesslike. Another EMT reached for the doors, swinging them closed with a soft thud. Vivian let herself sink into the bench seat, allowing a small smile to play on her lips. She closed her eyes, the image of Sterling's departing figure etched into her mind.
With the quiet hum of the engine starting, Vivian felt the weight of victory settle within her chest—a feeling of relief and accomplishment. They had won; the killer was caught, and justice would be served.
But more than that, she had found something rare and invaluable in the chaos: a partner she could trust, a bond that promised safety in a world riddled with shadows and threats. For a fleeting moment, she basked in that victory and realized that somehow, she’d never felt safer in all her life.