They came up to the window of the NICU, they were in there being checked out and treated. There are a lot of concerns for premature kids, but it seems so far they are both doing well. "Little Irina and Luka. God they are so small, it's so crazy."

Hero stepped up beside Zak, eyes fixin’ on the two tiny bundles behind the glass. He let out a slow breath, scratchin’ at his jaw like he was tryin’ to make sense of somethin’ too big to put into words.

“Damn,” he muttered, voice barely above a whisper. “Look at ‘em.” Hell of a pair."

Small didn’t even begin to cover it. Fragile, new to the world, yet already fightin’ just to be here. Something about it hit him in a place he wasn’t expectin’, the weight of it settlin’ deep in his chest.

He leaned a little closer, hands braced on his hips, watchin’ as one of ‘em—Luka, if he was guessin’ right—shifted slightly, little fingers twitchin’. “Ain’t it wild?” he murmured, blue eyes still locked on the babies. “One minute, they’re just an idea, somethin’ you talk about, and then—bam. They’re here. Whole damn world changes in an instant.”

Hero huffed out a breath, a wry smirk pullin’ at the corner of his mouth as he shot a glance at Zak. “And you? How you feelin’, man? ‘Cause I gotta say, fatherhood looks real good on you.” His voice was light, teasing, but there was real respect there too. Zak had been through hell, yet here he was—standin’ proud, whole, with a family to show for it. That was somethin’ worth admirin’.

"Mmm .... Glad to see your clever wit has stuck with you." She wished she could come up with witty remarks like he did. It was always amusing to her, hearing what he had to say. At least he was able to maintain a sense of humor in the chaotic world they'd lived in. Ruby had never seen herself as a humorous individual. Though she did surround herself with them.

Ruby knew she was slightly different than her fellow gang members. While she knew she could lean on them for support, she preferred isolation. She thought better on her own, she didn't have any distractions that way. She wanted to know what was going on, and she was determined to figure that out eventually. "Being alone with my thoughts helps sometimes," she told him, her words sincere. She didn't isolate to hurt anyone. It was just how she functioned.

“Water? That’s cold, Rubes. And not even the fun kind with ice.” He shook his head, gaze flickering with amusement. “I pour my heart out about Staten Island’s impending Mad Max era, and you’re out here offering me hydration?” A beat. “I mean, I’ll take it if it comes in a very expensive glass that makes me feel important, but otherwise? Disappointing.”

He let the teasing hang between them before shifting slightly, leaning against the nearest surface with a casual ease that didn’t quite match the sharp way he was still watching her.

“Alone with your thoughts, ” His lips quirked, something between understanding and skepticism. “Must be nice. Personally, mine are like a chaotic group chat—no volume control, constant bad ideas, and at least one existential crisis at three a.m.”

His tone was easy, but he wasn’t blind. Ruby liked to be alone—needed it, even. Zed got that. But there was a fine line between solitude and getting stuck inside your own head.

“So, what’s the latest genius revelation? Or are we still in the brooding stage?” He raised a brow, smirk tilting. “If you need background commentary, I’m available. Can’t promise it’ll be helpful, but it will be entertaining.”

The loud ringing in his ears, the throbbing beat of his temple, the sharp pain of light against his sensitive retinas - Willem recognized all the symptoms of a concussion, from studying it extensively during medical school to experiencing it on a semi-regular basis, ever since he joined the Ghost Riders. It was nothing new, and yet the restless agitation, his own barely suppressed panic at being kept in bed when he didn't know how any of his family, his friends were doing, made the entire experience almost surreal, an out-of-body experience he couldn't escape from.

"I told you-" An uncharacteristic snap to his voice, as he addressed the person who had just entered his room, his blurry vision telling him it was probably a nurse or a doctor. "-I'm fine. I don't need to be admitted for observation-" He spoke while struggling to extricate himself from the sheets, his entire body unconsciously listing to the side as he attempted to stand.

Zed leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, smirk firmly in place as he took in the absolute train wreck that was Willem trying—and failing—to act like he wasn’t two seconds away from face-planting onto the hospital floor.

"Yeah, no offense, but you look about as fine as a Windows XP update. Glitching, barely functional, and definitely about to crash," he quipped, stepping inside with a slow shake of his head.

He didn’t bother stopping him from trying to stand—Willem was a grown-ass man, and if he wanted to eat linoleum, who was Zed to deny him? But the second he swayed, Zed let out a dramatic sigh and reached out, one firm hand pressing against his shoulder to keep him from toppling over like a drunk Jenga tower.

"Alright, chill. You’ve already got one concussion, let’s not aim for a matching set, yeah?" He arched a brow, expression teetering between amusement and exasperation. "What’s the rush? Got a hot date? Secret underground fight club meeting? Extremely urgent Netflix binge?"

Zed knew the answer before Willem could even try to form it—this was a man who didn't sit still well, not when there were bigger concerns clawing at the edges of his mind. And yeah, Zed got that.

His smirk softened just a fraction. "Look, I get it. Sitting in a hospital bed while everything’s going to shit outside is agony—trust me, I’ve been there. But maybe don’t make it worse by throwing yourself at the ground like it owes you money."

He leaned back slightly, giving Willem a once-over, then smirked again. "Besides, I’d hate to be the one to break it to your crew that you got taken out by bedsheets." A beat. "That’s gotta be, like, a bottom-tier way to go."

"Doc, I live in a state of controlled chaos. Shock is just another Tuesday." His grip was steady but quick to release once she found her footing. The moment she clicked into doctor mode, he knew she was fine—well, as fine as anyone could be while running headfirst into an inferno.

Her offer not to puke made him smirk despite the hellscape surrounding them. "Deal," he quipped. "But if I do go down, just make sure I look good. Open casket and all." Then, no more jokes—only movement, calculation, reaction.

The fire cast jagged shadows across the wreckage, the flickering light making it feel almost unreal. He heard the cries before he saw them, and when Amara shouted for supplies, he was already shrugging out of his jacket.

"Best I got unless you wanna stitch ‘em up with my shoelaces," he called, tossing it toward her without hesitation.

The air was thick, every breath tasting like smoke and desperation. Zed wiped at his face with the back of his sleeve, scanning the chaos for anything useful—anything that could turn the tide even a fraction. "Tell me what you need, Doc, and I’ll get it."

"You mean besides the mild smoke inhalation, the absolute chaos, and the fact that Staten Island is now one step closer to resembling a post-apocalyptic wasteland?" He exhaled, shaking his head in mock exasperation. "Oh, just fantastic, really."

His gaze swept over her, sharp and assessing, though the usual glint of mischief softened—just a fraction.

"But hey, you know me—resilient as ever." He tapped his temple. "I’d say unshakable, but that’d be a blatant lie. Some of us don’t cope by becoming temporary recluses, though. Bold choice. What’s the verdict? Find anything yet, or just really enjoying the ambiance of self-imposed lockdown?"

A beat passed before he added, with a casual shrug, "And I’ll take a drink, since you’re offering. Preferably something that won’t make me question my life choices—any more than I already do."

He should be trying to get out. His brain is screaming at him to turn around. But he knows Freddie is probably in there somewhere, half-cocked amongst all the danger. That fucking guy, Dylan curses to himself. When I find him I'll- the thought is drowned by a plea to his left, making his head whip around instinctively of it's own volition at the sound. He squints through the haze and distinguishes a figure, practically screaming at him now. Fuck. He has to find Freddie and get the fuck out. He looks between the ferris wheel and the figure a few times, caught in a moral dilemma. "Agh fuck!" He groans, exasperated as he hurries through the smoke towards Bianca. "What? What do you need?"

Bianca didn’t hesitate, didn’t waste a second explaining—there wasn’t time for that. Instead, she thrust the little girl into Dylan’s arms, her grip firm, precise, like she wasn’t about to entertain any protests.

“Find her mother,” she ordered, voice razor-sharp, leaving no room for argument. “Or someone who can help her.”

The girl let out a weak, hiccupping sob as she clung to him, and for a moment, Bianca’s gaze softened—just a flicker, there and gone like a shadow in the firelight. Then it was gone, swallowed up by the cold calculation she always fell back on when the world went to hell.

“I need to keep moving.” Her words were steady, controlled, even as smoke burned at her throat. She was already scanning the wreckage, eyes sharp, mind turning over the next steps. There were others still trapped, still screaming. And Bianca? She wasn’t the type to stand by and watch.

She met Dylan’s eyes, assessing, measuring whether he was the type to rise to the occasion or crumble under pressure. “She’s terrified,” Bianca added, quieter now, an undercurrent of something almost personal threading through the words. “Don’t let her out of your sight.”

And just like that, she was gone, slipping back into the chaos without waiting for confirmation.

LOCATION: elias' place, late night. FOR: bianca de la cruz.

Bianca exhaled, slow and steady, forcing herself to focus on the plate in front of her instead of the tightness in her throat. The weight of the night of the carnival pressed against her, heavy and unrelenting, but she refused to let it pull her under—not here, not now. Not when Elias was looking at her like that, like he actually saw her.

She picked up her fork, took a bite, chewing with careful precision before swallowing. The silence stretched, thick with everything unspoken, until she finally nodded, the corner of her mouth twitching up in something that almost resembled amusement.

"Tequila," she said, voice even, but there was a rawness beneath it, a thread of something brittle she couldn’t quite swallow down. "Lots and lots of tequila."

Her gaze lifted to meet his, something knowing flickering in the depths of her dark eyes. She wouldn’t say it—not out loud—but she was grateful. For the food. For the quiet. For the simple fact that she wasn’t sitting in an empty apartment, alone with the echoes of her own thoughts.

"Unless you’re planning on being the responsible one tonight," she added, arching a brow, "in which case, I’ll take your share too."

Fatih's head was spinning. In every direction that he turned there was screaming, fire, and the distant whines of the injured. Without the twinkling of lamp posts and fairy lights, surrounded by nothing but people running and darkness, he has to take a moment to collect himself. After alerting his handler that he was okay after they'd called him, panicked by Stella's condition, and worried that his cover might be blown if he acted in accordance to his morals, he'd tried to make his way from the chaos, reluctantly ignoring the first call of a voice that commands him to listen.

Bianca didn’t waste time on pleasantries. The girl in her arms was still breathing, but barely, and that was all that mattered.

“Take her,” she ordered, stepping forward and pressing the child into his arms before he could hesitate. Her grip was firm, deliberate, ensuring he had her securely before pulling back. “She’s alive, but she’s hurt. Gash on the head, inhaling too much smoke.” Her voice was cool, level—but there was something beneath it, something sharp-edged and urgent. “Find someone who knows what the hell they’re doing.”

The child let out a soft, pained whimper as she was shifted, and Bianca’s jaw tightened, but she didn’t let herself falter. She couldn’t.

Her gaze flickered up, locking onto Fatih’s, assessing in an instant whether or not she could trust him with this. He didn’t look like a hero, didn’t move like someone who had planned on jumping into the fire tonight. But he’d stopped. He’d asked what he could do.

That was enough.

“I need to keep moving,” she added, already turning away. “There are more.” She didn’t wait for a response. If he was worth a damn, he’d do what needed to be done.

And if he didn’t?

She’d find him.

There was a lot Sebastian was looking forward to tonight, most things taking place long after the carnival shuts down for the night. For now his focus was temporarily on snacks, something that’d pair well with the spiked beverage in his hand. As he approached the cotton candy booth Sebastian could feel a presence looming over him, though he wasn’t able to put his finger on it until he spoke.

“You got a real poetic way of dodgin’ a straight answer, y’know that?” he drawled, flickin’ his gaze back to Sebastian with that same sharp-edged smirk. “Must be all that writin’—makin’ everythin’ sound real pretty.”

Leanin’ his elbows against the counter, Hero gave him a once-over, half amused, half curious. “Ain’t nothin’ wrong with a good pretzel, I’ll give you that,” he mused, “but the ferris wheel? Now that’s where you lose me. Whole thing creaks like it’s holdin’ on for dear life. Hell of a place to take a date—unless you’re hopin’ the thrill of near death works in your favor.”

As for the question thrown his way, Hero exhaled through his nose, rollin’ the toothpick between his teeth. “Long as I feel like,” he shrugged. His smirk turned easy, lazy. “But hell, maybe I’ll free myself up soon. Ain’t no fun watchin’ everybody else stir up trouble while I’m over here handin’ out candy like a damn babysitter.”

His smirk curled at the edges, sharp as a blade, as he took a slow step toward her, closin’ the space she’d left between them. His fingers drummed against the wood of his cue, his other hand reachin’ for his glass, but his gaze? That stayed locked on her, steady and unreadable.

“Full obedience?” He let the words roll off his tongue, tasting ‘em, sittin’ with ‘em for a moment like he was actually considerin’ the deal. “Now, that’s a dangerous little bet, darlin’. Either you got a real high opinion of your game, or you’re just itchin’ to see me do whatever it is you got rattlin’ around in that pretty little head of yours.” He took a slow sip of his drink, lettin’ the burn settle in his chest before settin’ the glass back down with a quiet clink.

Then he smirked—lazy, confident, full of trouble.

“Ain’t nothin’ about me that’s built for surrender, sweetheart. But hell, I do love a challenge.” He tilted his head, runnin’ his tongue over the edge of his teeth like he was savorin’ the anticipation. “So, you got yourself a deal. But just remember—you’re the one who set the stakes, and I ain’t the kind to go easy.”

He took his shot, smooth and precise, sendin’ another ball into the pocket with a satisfying thunk. Straightenin’ up, he gave her a slow, deliberate once-over before meetin’ her gaze again, the heat in his blue eyes damn near tangible.

“So tell me, Billie,” he mused, cue stick balanced easy between his fingers. “When you lose… you ready to play by my rules?”

He was her first and she knew some day, hopefully now, he would be her last too. Because at the end of the day no one compared. There was no one else.

“Trust me, I don’t mind. You helped me move and have seen the state of that mess already,” she said with a soft smile as she held onto him as they moved throughout the space.

Kinny let him remove her coat, the feel of his fingers lingering over her bare skin sent anticipation right down to her core, she only hoped that wouldn’t be the only article of clothing he would be removing off her tonight. She came prepared, and what lied under her clothes was just for him.

She took in a deep breath, taking his scent in. Everything about him sent her in a frenzy. “I’m still a little cold. But I think you know how to fix that.”

Hero released a low, guttural chuckle, the sound edged with raw need as his fingers traced the gentle dip of her spine, pulling her firmly against him. "That so?" he murmured, his voice thick, laden with something deeper, something primal. His lips hovered near the curve of her ear, the warmth of his breath teasing before trailing lower, leaving deliberate, burning kisses along the exposed column of her neck.

His hands, though unhurried, carried a palpable urgency—an insatiable hunger he had been forced to temper for far too long. Two weeks of restraint, of skirting the edge of control, of pretending patience was within his reach. The notion felt almost ridiculous now, with the way she softened against him, with the way her breath hitched as his fingers dipped lower, grazing the smooth expanse of her abdomen with featherlight precision.

"You’re right, sugar," he drawled, his voice a slow pour of molasses, thick with intent. "I reckon I got a real good idea of how to warm you up."

He took her hand then, his calloused fingers curling over hers, guiding her downward—pressing himself closer from behind so she could feel the full extent of his need. "Let’s see if you remember those lessons of ours, hmm?" he rasped, his lips curling against the sensitive skin of her neck. His teeth dragged over her pulse point, just enough to send a tremor through her, just enough to remind her that patience had never been his virtue.

No, tonight, there would be no holding back. Not when she was here, in his space, in his hands, exactly where she was meant to be.

Because he needed her.

"Hey, thanks for coming." Zak greeted them with a smile. "How are you holding up?" The events of last night were not favorable, "The babies are okay, they are a little early, a bit small but they are doing good." He said with a smile, he felt bad for being so happy right now, everyone else was suffering and this was the greatest night of his life in some aspects. "Do you wanna see them?"

Hero exhaled slow, dragging a hand down his face as he stepped further into the room. Guilt was a weight sittin’ heavy on his chest—he shoulda been there, shoulda known sooner. But he’d been wrapped up in his own damn world, while all this hell broke loose.

“Yeah, ‘course I came,” he said, voice quieter than usual, scratchin’ at the back of his neck. “Didn’t hear ‘bout the fire ‘til after. Should’ve been here sooner.” He shook his head, blue eyes flickering over Zak, taking him in—tired, but happy. Real damn happy.

Hero let out a breath, some of that tension loosening at the mention of the babies. “That’s good, man. Real good,” he murmured, a slow, genuine smile breaking through the regret. “Hell, a little early, a little small—don’t matter. Sounds like they already got that fight in ‘em.”

At Zak’s offer, Hero hesitated for just a second before nodding. “Yeah, I wanna see ‘em.” His voice was softer now, almost reverent, like he was steppin’ into something bigger than himself. “Reckon it ain’t every day you meet a couple’a brand-new badasses.” His gaze flicked back to Zak, smirk twitchin’ at the corner of his mouth, but the sincerity was there, clear as day. “Lead the way, man.”

LOCATION: high note. FOR: victoria london.

“ If there’s one thing I know about men who think they’re bigger than the world they’re tryin’ to control, it’s that they never really know when to shut the hell up and stay gone.” Her tone was light, teasing, but there was a sharpness beneath it, an edge honed from years of watching power-hungry fools tear each other apart.

She leaned against the bar, posture effortless as ever, but there was an unmistakable glint in her dark eyes—something amused, something intrigued. “But honestly, should we be surprised? It’s almost adorable how predictable these types are. Like clockwork. Think they’re orchestrating some grand spectacle when really, it’s just another tired act.” She arched a perfectly sculpted brow, a smirk curling at the corner of her lips. “Same script, usual different fool.”

Her gaze flickered toward Ludovica’s martini, then back up at her. “Tell me, sweetheart—are we drinking to the headache this is about to become? Or to the fact that we both know how this ends?” A pause, head tilting ever so slightly. “Because I don’t know about you, but I plan on enjoying the show. Some men just love to be their own worst enemy… and far be it from me to stop ‘em.”

location: the New York Hospital

Victoria, ever the vision of poise even in a hospital room, leaned forward in her chair, resting her chin in her palm as a slow, teasing smirk spread across her lips. “Long enough to confirm you’re still among the living,” she drawled, eyes flicking over Stella like she was assessing damage, though the warmth beneath the jest was unmistakable. “Figured I’d stick around, make sure you didn’t wake up alone. Also, I do love a dramatic hospital entrance, but you kinda robbed me of that opportunity by already being unconscious when I got here.”

She let out a slow sigh, shaking her head in faux disappointment. “Truly, selfish of you.”

But despite the playful edge to her words, concern lingered in her dark eyes. Victoria wasn’t one for hovering—she left that to the handwringers of the world—but she also wasn’t one to let the people she cared about go through things alone.

She leaned back, crossing one leg over the other, voice softening just a little. “You gave us a hell of a scare, sugar. Next time you wanna pull a stunt like this, at least let me coordinate an outfit first. Nothing worse than a hospital gown stealing all your dignity.”

A beat.

“How you feelin’?” It was casual, but the weight of the question sat between them—genuine, unspoken worry wrapped in silk.

The loud ringing in his ears, the throbbing beat of his temple, the sharp pain of light against his sensitive retinas - Willem recognized all the symptoms of a concussion, from studying it extensively during medical school to experiencing it on a semi-regular basis, ever since he joined the Ghost Riders. It was nothing new, and yet the restless agitation, his own barely suppressed panic at being kept in bed when he didn't know how any of his family, his friends were doing, made the entire experience almost surreal, an out-of-body experience he couldn't escape from.

"I told you-" An uncharacteristic snap to his voice, as he addressed the person who had just entered his room, his blurry vision telling him it was probably a nurse or a doctor. "-I'm fine. I don't need to be admitted for observation-" He spoke while struggling to extricate himself from the sheets, his entire body unconsciously listing to the side as he attempted to stand.

She reached out, pressing a steadying hand to his shoulder before he could do something real dumb—like face-plant onto the floor. “What, you think you’re just gonna waltz on outta here like you didn’t get your head knocked sideways?” She sighed, shaking her head as if he were the biggest headache she’d had to deal with all day. “And here I thought you were the smart one.”

Her smirk softened just a little, but concern flickered beneath it. “Can’t have a member of the fan club witherin’ away ‘cause of his own damn stubbornness. What kinda message would that send to the others?” She gave his shoulder a light squeeze before tapping her fingers against his temple—gently, but pointedly. “Now sit your ass down before I have to do it for you. I’d hate to embarrass you in front of all these nice medical professionals.”

A pause, her voice dropping just a touch, still playful but with something more serious beneath it. “You know you’re allowed to let people take care of you, right?”