“How long has it been?” Jamie’s voice in her ear is calm, but Isabel hears the concern that she’s trying not to show.

“Eight days.” Isabel rubs her eyes, grateful that the hour difference between Chicago and New York made it just about acceptable to call Jamie at this ungodly hour of the morning. Just about. “I could go into hours and minutes if you were looking for that kind of detail, though.” She chuckles mirthlessly

“And he didn’t give you any way of getting in touch with him? Nothing at all?” This is what has been most difficult for Jamie to grasp, no matter how many times Isabel assured her that is the case.

“No, Jamie, it’s the same answer since the last time you asked.” Isabel rolls her eyes at her friend.

“Hey, no sarcasm before seven. That’s the rule, Bishop!” Jamie sighs loudly and Isabel can imagine her lifting her eye mask and squinting at the too-bright sunlight invading her bedroom. “Jesus, who knew it was so light at this time of the morning? It should really be the middle of the night.”

“Welcome to an early start, Jamie! Better late than never!” Isabel laughs at the stream of unrepeatable insults her friend spouts off. Jamie’s language is always far more colorful first thing in the morning, before she’s had her first coffee. Isabel smiles at the knowledge of that single fact, grateful there are some things that are still certain, some things that she can still hold onto despite everything.

“So have you asked Rosa to cast some of her magic tea leaves?” Jamie has always believed in all of that stuff much more than Isabel.

“No, but I’m getting to that point so things must be bad.” Isabel rubs her eyes again, trying to figure out how much sleep she’s actually managed to get.

“Issy.” Jamie pauses and Isabel already knows what she’s going to say before the words come out.

“He’s coming back, Jamie.” She sounds more certain of it than she actually feels.

“But what if -”

Isabel chops the air in half with the side of her hand, cutting her friend off. “I can’t think about what ifs, Jamie. I have to believe he’s going to come back to me. I have to, because if I don’t, I don’t know how to do anything else.”

She shakes her head, wondering when her happiness had become so intricately tied to Wesley, when the thought of him alone was enough to make her feel better, like anything was possible. Please come back to me, she sends a prayer up to anyone that’s willing to listen. Please come back to me.

***

MILES AND MILES AWAY, Wesley thinks about Isabel, the one bright spot in his life in a long time. He keeps her in his mind, knowing she’s the only thing that’s going to help him get back to where he needs to be. He grips the old wound in his leg, feeling the fiery burn of pain, as if the shrapnel is being picked out of it again. His hand comes away from his pants wet and he lifts it up to his face. Even in the dark he can see the color.

Red. Deep red.

“Oh shit.” He can barely get the words out through his gritted teeth. He applies pressure to his leg, focusing on the promise that he made.

“I’m coming back, Bel. I’m coming back.” He takes another step and then another, but he’s lost too much blood, his legs give out from underneath him.

He sits in the dirt, resting his back against the building he’s collapsed outside of. “I’m coming back, Bel. I just have to rest a little first.”

His eyes droop close and the last thing he sees in his mind before he loses consciousness is the face of a woman with green eyes, eyes that saw right through to his soul the first time she looked at him. He thinks about the woman he loves and then darkness overtakes him.