Chapter 66

They climbed on, and this time, Beth moved instinctively. There was no hesitation, no awkward shuffle to get her bearings—just the clean, practiced way her body fitted itself to his. Her arms wrapped tight around his waist, her cheek pressing between his shoulder blades. She could feel the rain soaking through the collar of her borrowed jacket, feel the sharp, familiar shape of adrenaline flickering under her ribs. But it wasn't fear. Not yet. It was awareness. Heightened senses. The hum of readiness she hadn't felt this clearly since her military days.

Beneath her palms, Changbin's jacket was slick with rain and tension. His muscles were coiled tight as he eased the bike into motion, maneuvering carefully back onto the wet road. The engine rumbled low and steady between her thighs, and the city peeled past in liquid gold and blurry neon.

The rain turned everything into watercolor—lights bleeding together, roads glowing like black glass. Her helmet fogged at the edges, mist clinging to the visor. Tires hissed over puddles and gusts of wind cut sideways through alleyways, cold and sharp.

And still, Beth felt weightless.

Held.

Untouchable.

Until the curve.

It wasn't sharp. It wasn't blind. It should've been nothing. But the back tire clipped something—slicker than rain alone. Oil, maybe. Or just the smooth, unforgiving polish of the asphalt beneath days of traffic and a night of steady drizzle.

The fishtail wasn't dramatic. It wasn't cinematic. But it was enough.

She felt the shift in Changbin's center of gravity before she heard him curse—short and sharp, a sound barely louder than the rain. Her spine locked. Instinct screamed. Muscle memory lit up like a flare. She tried to counterbalance, tried to brace, but there was no time. No space.

The world lurched sideways.

Her stomach shot to her throat. Her boots lifted from the pegs. Changbin's arm snapped across her waist like a seatbelt just as the bike tipped.

The impact wasn't a single moment—it was a cascade.

Her knees hit first—scraping hard, the vibration rattling up her femurs and into her chest. Then came the sound, terrible and visceral: the metallic shriek of the undercarriage grinding across pavement, rubber burning, sparks flashing behind her eyelids. Rain met friction in a vicious hiss as they skidded, the bike dragging them sideways in a momentum she couldn't stop.

Then came the snap.

Her right shoulder twisted beneath her. Pain shot up her neck in a lightning bolt, blinding and absolute, followed by a sickening pop—wet and deep and wrong. Something tore. Something dislocated.

Beth didn't scream.

She couldn't scream.

The air had been ripped from her lungs. Her vision tunneled. Her helmet smacked the street hard enough to jar her jaw. Every nerve in her body recoiled. She felt gravel beneath her palms, wet and sharp, but her fingers wouldn't grip. Wouldn't move.

They finally came to a stop.

The bike groaned as it collapsed sideways against the curb, metal still humming from the violence of its slide. Beth's body crumpled beside it—unmoving at first, like a puppet whose strings had been severed. The world was sideways. Blurred. Spinning slowly like a coin losing momentum on concrete.

For a moment, there was nothing.

No sound beyond the soft, ominous purr of rain hitting hot metal. No movement but the slow drip of water off the mangled tailpipe. No feeling but the cold bloom of wet asphalt beneath her ribs.

And then— The adrenaline hit.

Not the sharp-edged clarity she'd trained for. Not the cold discipline of combat readiness. This wasn't military-grade focus.

This was chaos.

Raw and primal.

Her breath punched out in short, broken gasps. Her lungs seized. Her mouth opened but pulled in nothing but wet air. Her body jolted, trying to sit, trying to move—but the pain stopped her cold. Her left hand scrabbled against the ground, useless, sliding through water-slick gravel as she tried to push herself upright. Her shoulder—

God.

Her shoulder was wrong.

Pain ripped through her right side like a live wire, flaring from the joint through her collarbone and down into her ribs. Her elbow burned. Her hip throbbed, dense and bruised like she'd been hit with a baseball bat. But the shoulder—

That was the epicenter. That was what stole her breath. That was what made her vision tunnel and the edge of the world go gray.

She couldn't move her fingers. Couldn't feel the ground beneath them.

The panic roared to life.

Too fast. Too much. Her helmet became a cage, pressing against her skull like it was shrinking. The visor fogged in rapid, shallow exhales, until all she could see was her own panic reflected back in the blurred sheen of rain and breath. Her ears rang with static. Her limbs shook. Her jaw clenched so tight she could hear her molars grinding.

She was ex-military.

She had trained in deserts and frozen forests and stadiums full of screaming chaos. She had packed wounds and barked orders and run drills until her hands blistered. She had faced fire and blood and lived to talk about it.

But this wasn't a warzone.

This was Seoul. This was her life. This was Changbin.

This was her daughter, miles away in bed. This was the man she was falling in love with crumpled next to her on the asphalt, and this was her own goddamn body betraying her in the middle of a rain-slick street.

She couldn't breathe. Couldn't even cry properly. Just wet, stuttering gasps that broke against her lips like waves. Her good arm moved automatically, scrabbling at the helmet, at the latch beneath her chin. Her fingers slipped.

"T-take it off," she choked, voice strangled and high and cracking around the sob that fought to escape. "I—I can't—Changbin—my shoulder—!"

She tried to shift, tried to sit, but the moment she twisted her torso, pain exploded like a grenade in her right side and her vision blacked out at the edges.

She didn't even feel herself start to cry.

It just happened—tears and snot and rain mixing together, her mouth open in a silent scream. Sobs tore through her body, deep and heaving and full of old trauma uncoiled. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't think. All she could do was feel—and every sensation was pain.

Suddenly, hands were on her. Large. Gentle. Trembling.

Fingers fumbled at the strap of her helmet. A blur of soaked black sleeves, skin scraped raw across the knuckles. His voice cut through the static in urgent Korean—low and panicked, cracking around the edges.

"Kwenchanha? Beth—Shibal, no—look at me, look at me—are you hurt? Talk to me—fuck, baby, come on—"

Her name again. Her real name. Not a call sign. Not a rank. Just Beth.

He was shaking. She could feel it through his touch. Through the tremor in his hands as they unclipped the strap and peeled the helmet away.

Cool air hit her face like a slap.

Her vision cleared in fragments, like broken glass rearranging itself into focus. Shapes sharpened. Edges returned. Changbin's face hovered above hers—wet, wild, unmistakably terrified. His hair was plastered to his forehead in thick, rain-soaked curls, and a thin line of blood curved down his temple from a gash near his hairline, mingling with the rain as it traced the side of his face.

His mouth moved in a blur, shouting something urgent over his shoulder to someone sprinting toward them. Pedestrians? Restaurant staff? Security? Police? She couldn't tell. Couldn't process the movement beyond him.

Because then he turned back.

And suddenly he was right there—dropping to his knees beside her with all the control of a man trying to hold back an earthquake. One arm slipped under her neck, lifting her gently from the pavement like she might break in his hands. His palm cradled her skull, steady even though his fingertips trembled.

His eyes were blown wide, pupils huge in the dim light, and for the first time since the fall, Beth saw it—raw, unfiltered terror. Not for himself. For her.

"Beth," he rasped again, his voice cracking around the edges like something already splintering. "Hey. Babe. Look at me. Please. Talk to me. You're okay. You're gonna be okay. Just—just tell me where it hurts."

Her throat convulsed around a sob she couldn't form. Her lips parted, but her voice stuck. When she didn't answer, his gaze dropped to her body, scanning rapidly, zeroing in on the way her right arm was folded tight and wrong against her chest. He hovered a hand over her shoulder, close enough to feel the heat radiating from the joint.

"Is it out?" he asked, breath hitched. "Your shoulder. Did it dislocate?"

Beth nodded, the tiniest motion, but the agony it caused made her whole body jerk in recoil. A pained hiss escaped her lips as her muscles spasmed again.

"Okay," he said quickly, his voice going low and urgent, like he was trying to anchor her with it. "Okay, jagi. Don't move. Don't try to move. I've got you. Just breathe for me, yeah? You're alright. I've got you. You're okay."

He rocked slightly as he held her, as if keeping her close was the only thing keeping him from unraveling. Rain poured around them now, soaking through her torn jacket, dripping from his sleeves, soaking the towel someone had thrust into his hands. His voice stayed steady, even as his shoulders shook. He kept repeating it like a benediction—You're okay. You're okay. I've got you.

Beth broke.

A sob cracked through her chest and she curled forward, instinctively seeking his body like a tether in the storm. Her good arm hooked weakly around his waist, her cheek pressed into the soaked fabric of his jacket. She shook violently, teeth chattering now from cold and shock, the ache in her body eclipsed only by the burn in her lungs.

He didn't hesitate. Didn't flinch. Just wrapped himself around her like a shield, one hand cradling the back of her head, the other gripping her waist with quiet desperation.

"I'm not going anywhere," he whispered into her hair, voice shaking with the force of the promise. "You hear me? I've got you. You're safe. You're safe."

Somewhere behind them, a car door slammed. A new voice cut through the downpour, sharp and startled, shouting in Korean. A man with an umbrella jogged over. Another crouched low beside the bike, hands checking the wreckage. Someone—maybe a bystander, maybe a fan—stepped in too close with a phone raised. Changbin's voice shot out like a crack of thunder—hard, angry, protective. He barked something sharp and guttural in Korean, his arm tightening around her instinctively as he glared at the gathering crowd.

People were watching.

Phones were filming.

Beth squeezed her eyes shut and let out a ragged whimper.

"Hey. Hey." Changbin turned back to her instantly, his tone softening. "Look at me. Don't worry about them. Just look at me."

He leaned in further, his face only inches from hers now, shielding her completely from the strangers gathering in the periphery. The rain pelted harder, glinting off the concrete, pooling in the gutters, streaking down his cheeks like tears. His hand cupped her jaw, rough with gravel and blood, but warm.

"We're going to get you up, okay?" he said softly, as if calming a wounded animal. "We're gonna get you out of here, and I'll be right beside you the whole time. Just breathe. Don't move your arm. Just breathe."

Beth gasped, but it wasn't relief. It was panic again. Fresh and sharp and crawling under her skin.

"C-Cassie—" she choked, voice raw. "I—I can't—my shoulder, it—" Her teeth clacked against the sob.

"I know," he said, pulling her closer. "I know, love, I saw. We're going to the ER. I'm calling Alex and Chan right now. They'll meet us there. Just keep breathing. Please."

Her body was trembling violently now, shaking with shock. She couldn't stop it. She couldn't stop anything.

Changbin cursed under his breath—low and wrecked—and turned his face away to shout again, asking for help, demanding space. A woman knelt beside them with a blanket from her backseat. A man muttered something about the bike, but Beth couldn't focus. Everything was hazy. Too loud. Too bright. Too much.

But even through the blur, she saw his face.

That look on Changbin's face.

Not just fear. Not just guilt.

Helplessness.

"I'm sorry," she sobbed, barely audible over the rain. "I'm sorry—I shouldn't've come—I fucked it all up—"

"Don't." His voice cracked like something vital snapping. "Don't say that. Don't you dare apologize."

He wiped at her face with the edge of the towel, clumsy from the cold but reverent in its care. His fingers trembled, no matter how hard he tried to hide it, and the towel smeared a faint trail of blood and rain across her temple before he remembered to be gentler. He held her gaze with an urgency that bordered on anguish, like if he looked away for even a second, she might vanish.

"This isn't your fault," he said again, voice cracking with the weight of it. "You were amazing, Beth. You were so fucking brave. I should've turned back when the rain started. I should've been more careful. I should've—" He swallowed hard, jaw clenched. "Fuck. I'm so sorry. I should've kept you safe."

Beth opened her mouth, but her lips barely moved. Her voice was soft, dazed, splintered at the edges. "They're taking pictures."

The words landed like a gut punch.

Her gaze went glassy again, as if the panic had turned inward, curling up tight behind her ribs, draining what little color remained in her face. Her breath stuttered out in uneven, shivering bursts, and her body tensed in his arms like she was bracing for impact all over again.

The second the words left her mouth, Changbin's head snapped around.

His eyes, already wide with fear, narrowed to slits. His jaw locked so tightly it trembled with the force of it. He scanned the growing crowd with ruthless precision, his gaze cutting across every lifted phone, every idiot with a camera, every bystander trying to immortalize her pain. The shame of it—the fury—burned in him hotter than the adrenaline still thundering through his blood.

"Fuck," he breathed, barely audible, the word a snarl of venom and disbelief.

Without thinking, he shifted lower, bracing himself against the pavement, and folded his body over hers like armor. His jacket was already soaked through, but he didn't care. Didn't feel it. He took the towel and blanket and tugged them over her face, shielding her from the cameras, the eyes, the world. His arms closed around her in a full-body shelter, his body absorbing the cold, the rain, the humiliation she didn't deserve.

"They don't matter," he murmured, voice tight with rage and desperation. "Don't look at them. Just you and me, jagi. Just breathe. I've got you."

But she couldn't. Not properly. Her chest rose and fell in shallow gasps, her lips tinged faintly gray now under the fluorescent halo of a streetlamp. Her whole body was shaking, soaked and aching and broken open. The pain was too much. The exposure was too much. She couldn't keep it out—couldn't pull herself back from the edge.

And Changbin could feel it. Every tremor. Every shallow breath. The raw, unraveling panic bleeding into every beat of her heart.

More voices shouted in Korean from down the street, sharp and urgent.

Then a new voice—familiar and commanding, cutting through the chaos like a bell.

"Hyung!"

Changbin turned just as Chan appeared through the haze of rain and light, his hair plastered to his scalp, soaked through to the skin. He was sprinting, not caring about traffic or puddles, not caring that he slipped as he turned the corner. Behind him, Alex moved like a knife through fog, her raincoat snapping behind her, face already half-stern, half-horrified.

"Oh my god—Beth," Alex choked out as she dropped to her knees in the gutter beside them, not giving a single damn about the water pooling beneath her. She reached for Beth immediately, hands hovering, scanning, checking her from head to toe without even needing to be told what had happened.

"She's hurt. Shoulder's out—right side," Changbin rasped, voice strained from holding it together too long. "I caught her—we didn't hit the ground hard, but the angle—"

"She's in shock," Alex cut in, already peeling off her gloves. "Alright. We've got her. Chan's calling the driver now. We'll get her out of here in five."

Beth whimpered, curling tighter against Changbin's chest, the movement weak and small and full of dread. Her voice broke in the middle as she whispered, "I don't wanna be on the news. Please—I can't. I can't do it again."

"You won't be," Alex said, steel in her voice now. "I'll handle it. You hear me? You're not a headline tonight. You're mine, and I've got you."

She turned her eyes to the crowd with enough venom to make three people lower their phones without a word.

Then Alex looked back down at her, the shift in her expression almost imperceptible—but Beth felt it like a tether catching her before she could completely unravel. The edge in Alex's face softened, her tone gentled, and she dropped into a crouch that brought her nearly eye-level with Beth's pale, tear-streaked face.

"Alright, babes," she said, low and steady, like she was talking to a scared animal and a trusted soldier all at once. "We've got a problem. Your shoulder needs to be reset before we move you. You trust me?"

Beth turned her head toward her with agonizing slowness. Her entire body was shaking now—not with cold, but from the lingering effects of shock, adrenaline, and sheer, bone-deep pain. Tears streamed down her cheeks unchecked, smeared now with road grit and mascara, carving uneven tracks through the grime. Her voice broke on a whisper. "It hurts," she said, wrecked and fragile and raw. "Alex... it hurts..."

"I know, honey." Alex's voice didn't waver, but it dropped an octave. Her hands hovered now over Beth's swollen shoulder, watching the tension in the surrounding muscles, tracking the unnatural rise of the bone, the way her right arm hung slightly forward. "I know it hurts like hell. I know it feels impossible. But I've done this before. I can get it back in, quick and clean."

Beth's breath shuddered out of her. "Not here..." Her voice was paper-thin, almost childlike. "Please—not here..."

"Here is better than later," Alex said, gently but with that familiar command threading through her words now. "You're in shock. Your body's already pushing limits. If we wait for the hospital, they'll knock you out, and that means more trauma, more recovery time. Right now, I can do it fast. I can do it right. But I need you with me, okay?"

Beth whimpered, her lip quivering, and her eyes slid shut again. She felt everything all at once—the weight of the rain soaking her clothes, the ache in her spine from the awkward angle, the heat of Changbin's chest against her back, his arms wrapped around her like scaffolding. And still, the pain radiated from her shoulder like a second heartbeat, sharp and punishing.

Alex's tone sharpened, just a hair. "I need you to dig in, soldier. Sixty seconds of hell. That's all. You don't need to be quiet. You don't need to hold it in. You can scream into Changbin, punch my knee, cry the whole damn time. But I need you to let me do this."

Beth didn't speak. She couldn't. But she gave the faintest nod, barely perceptible. It was enough.

Alex turned instantly. "Changbin—get behind her. Support her spine and shoulder. Keep her still."

He moved into position without hesitation, his body sliding behind Beth's, his knees framing her hips as he gathered her into his lap. His breath came fast and shallow, but his grip was solid. One hand braced against her sternum, the other gripping her left wrist. "I've got her," he said. His voice cracked. Then again, more firmly. "I've got you, jagiya. You're okay."

"Chan, brace her leg and elbow," Alex said. "Lock her left side so she doesn't shift when I pop the joint."

Chan knelt fast, his hand steady on Beth's left knee and forearm, grounding her like a lifeline.

Beth whimpered. Her body trembled so hard now that her teeth chattered. She was folded into herself as much as possible, trying not to scream already, anticipating the pain with every nerve in her body on high alert.

Alex shifted into position, one knee in the water pooling on the street, her gloved hands bracing Beth's dislocated arm—fingers splayed wide over her bicep and elbow.

"Beth," Alex said softly, leaning in. "Eyes on me."

Beth forced her eyes open. They were dilated, wild with pain and panic, but they locked onto Alex's face like a lifeline.

"That's it," Alex whispered. "Breathe with me. In through your nose. Good. Ready?"

Beth's entire body recoiled in anticipation. Her breath caught. She gave a jerking nod.

Alex counted, her voice strong and unflinching.

"Three..."

Changbin's hands tightened, one sliding under her ribs, the other wrapping across her chest to hold her steady.

"Two..."

Beth clenched her jaw, her good hand fisting in the fabric of Changbin's soaked jeans.

"One. Now—"

The pop was audible—sickening and sharp, a deep internal shift as Alex guided the humerus back into place with a single swift motion and practiced pressure. For one frozen heartbeat, everything inside Beth locked.

Then the pain detonated.

It was blinding. A bolt of white-hot agony arced down her arm and across her chest like lightning cracking a tree open at the root. Her scream tore free before she could stop it—loud, guttural, shredded at the edges. She bucked forward, but Changbin held her firm, burying his face in her shoulder as she screamed into the side of his neck.

And then, just as quickly, the worst of it ebbed.

The pain dulled from searing to throbbing. The limb wasn't twisted anymore. Her arm lay limp but aligned, and the nausea that had been clawing at her throat receded just a hair.

She slumped. Backward. Collapsing into Changbin's lap like a ragdoll, her chest heaving as the last sobs ripped out of her on autopilot.

"It's in," Alex said quickly, low and urgent. "You're good. The joint's back. That's the worst of it. Just breathe, Beth. You did it."

Chan let out a breath like he'd been underwater. His hand stayed on Beth's leg, steadying her even now. "That was incredible," he murmured. "You're so damn strong."

"Fuck," Beth sobbed again, the word barely intelligible. Her whole body was limp now, wrecked and trembling. "That—fuck, I—"

"I know," Alex whispered, brushing the wet hair from her face with care that bordered on reverent. "I know, babes. I'm so sorry. But it's done. You're safe. You're going to the hospital now. No more field medicine. No more pain. Just rest."

Changbin's hand hadn't moved from her chest. His forehead was pressed to the side of her face, his entire body wrapped around her like armor.

"You did so good, baby," he whispered hoarsely. "So fucking good. I'm so sorry, I'm so—"

"Don't," she whispered, cutting him off without even lifting her head. "You saved me."