Peter's heart pounded as he stared at the blurry figure on Diana's tablet. Whoever the man was, he'd acted with swift precision—too professional for this to be some spur-of-the-moment crime. It was a hit. And they had no idea why.

"Run that face through every database we've got," Peter ordered, his voice tight with urgency. "We need to know who he is and why he targeted Neal."

Diana nodded, her fingers moving quickly across the screen, already pulling up the resources to analyze the image. "I'm on it. I'll let you know as soon as I have something."

Peter's phone buzzed in his pocket. He snatched it up, hoping for news. "Burke," he answered sharply.

"Peter, it's Jones. I just spoke with the doctors. Neal's stable for now, but they're running tests to identify the poison. He's still unconscious."

Peter exhaled, feeling the knot in his chest tighten. "Stable for now" wasn't enough. "Stable for now" was a thin line between life and death.

"I'm heading to the hospital," Peter said. "Keep me updated on anything you find."

"We're going to figure this out," Jones said before hanging up.

Peter drove to the hospital, the image of Neal convulsing on the sidewalk seared into his mind. The ambulance ride, the foam, the stillness when Neal's body went limp—it played over and over like a nightmare on repeat.

When he arrived at the hospital, he rushed inside, flashing his badge to bypass the reception area. He found Jones standing near the ICU, his face grim.

"What's the latest?" Peter asked, not wasting any time.

Jones shook his head. "They still don't know what kind of poison it is. But whatever it is, it's not common. Neal's body is fighting, but the doctors say if they don't identify it soon..."

Peter clenched his jaw. They didn't have time. "Where is he?"

Jones motioned to a nearby room, its door closed and the blinds drawn. "In there. He's hooked up to everything, but they're monitoring him closely."

Peter walked toward the room, each step heavier than the last. He paused at the door, taking a breath before pushing it open.

Neal lay still on the hospital bed, his skin pale against the sterile white sheets. An oxygen mask covered his face, and the steady beep of the heart monitor filled the quiet room. His normally sharp, lively eyes were closed, and Peter was struck by how fragile he looked—so unlike the confident, quick-witted conman he knew.

Peter sat in the chair beside the bed, leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he studied Neal's face. This wasn't the first time Neal had come close to death, but it felt different this time. There was no game to play, no clever move to save him from the edge. This was real. And Peter didn't have control over the outcome.

He ran a hand through his hair, frustration bubbling up. "Who did this to you?" He muttered quietly, his voice tight.

As if in response, Neal's fingers twitched slightly. Peter straightened, watching closely, but Neal remained still, his breathing shallow under the mask. Peter swallowed the lump in his throat, forcing himself to stay calm.

Diana's voice crackled through his comms. "Peter, I've got an ID on the guy from the restaurant."

Peter stood up immediately, walking out of the room, needing answers. "Talk to me."

"His name is Martin Kovacs," Diana said. "Ex-CIA, deep cover operative until he went off the grid a few years ago. Rumor has it he's freelancing now—mercenary work, high-profile jobs. He's good. Really good."

Peter's mind raced. "Why Neal? Why now?"

Diana hesitated. "That's the part we're still piecing together. But... there's more. Kovacs has ties to several European crime syndicates. If he's involved, this could go a lot deeper than we thought."

Peter's stomach turned. Neal hadn't just been a random target—this was part of something much bigger. "Get every bit of intel you can on Kovacs. I want to know who hired him and what their endgame is."

"I'll dig into it," Diana promised. "But Peter, be careful. If Kovacs is working for a syndicate, this could be more than just a hit on Neal. It could be a message."

Peter's jaw tightened. "Message or not, they messed with the wrong people."

He hung up, his mind swirling with the new information. Kovacs was dangerous, but Peter had faced dangerous before. The problem was time—Neal didn't have much of it, and neither did they.

Peter walked back into Neal's room, standing at the foot of the bed, his eyes narrowing with determination. He wasn't going to let Neal die. Not like this. Not after everything they'd been through.

"I'm going to find whoever did this to you, Neal" Peter said quietly, his voice low but fierce. "And when I do, they're going to regret it."

As if he'd heard Peter's vow, Neal stirred slightly, his hand twitching again. Peter took a step closer, watching, waiting.

"Neal?" Peter called softly, hope surging through him.

But Neal didn't wake. His body relaxed again, his breaths slow and labored. Peter's heart sank, but the fight wasn't over. Not yet.

Peter pulled out his phone and dialed Diana. "I need every resource we have. I want eyes on Kovacs, and I want them now."

If Kovacs thought he could take Neal out and disappear into the shadows, he was wrong. Peter was going to hunt him down, and when he found him, the man would wish he'd never crossed Neal Caffrey.

As hours passed, Neal's condition began to worsen. The doctors had run every test, consulted every expert, but the poison remained a mystery. Peter stood outside Neal's hospital room, watching the medical team work through the glass. The steady beeping of the heart monitor had become irregular, and Neal's breathing had grown shallow. His skin had taken on a grayish pallor, sweat slicking his forehead as his body fought an invisible enemy.

Peter clenched his fists, feeling the weight of helplessness settle over him. Neal was slipping away, and every second without answers was a second closer to losing him.

Diana's voice crackled through Peter's comms, breaking the tense silence. "Peter, we've tracked Kovacs. He's in the city, holed up in a safe house in Brooklyn. We don't have much time—he'll be on the move soon."

Peter's eyes narrowed. "Is he alone?"

"Surveillance shows at least two others with him, but we're working to ID them. It could be backup or just a meeting. Either way, we need to move now." Diana replied.

Peter looked back at Neal through the window, his heart twisting. He wanted to stay by his side, but they were out of options. If they didn't stop Kovacs and find out what poison he used, Neal would die.

Peter grabbed his coat, his decision made. "I'm on my way. Have the team meet me there. We take Kovacs alive—no mistakes."

As Peter rushed out of the hospital, his phone buzzed. It was Jones.

"How's Neal?" Jones asked, his voice low.

"Not good," Peter muttered as he made his way to the car. "He's getting worse. We've got Kovacs' location, but we need to act fast."

"Got it. I'll coordinate with the hospital in case we get any info from Kovacs. Let's make this quick."

Peter drove in tense silence, weaving through traffic as the city rushed by in a blur. His thoughts kept going back to Neal—the smooth-talking conman, his partner in more ways than one. Peter had saved him from danger before, but this was different. This time, Neal's life hung in the balance, and Peter didn't have a clever plan to pull him out of it.

As he approached the rendezvous point in Brooklyn, Peter saw Diana, Jones, and a team of agents already assembling. Diana handed him a tactical vest as soon as he stepped out of the SUV.

"Kovacs is inside," Diana said, her voice tight with focus. "We've got the building surrounded. He hasn't left yet, but it's only a matter of time."

Peter strapped on the vest, his mind focused. "No one makes a move until I give the signal. We need him alive."

Jones nodded. "We've got a team at the rear exit in case he tries to run."

Peter took a deep breath, signaling the team to move into position. They approached the building with practiced precision, each step carefully calculated. The air was thick with tension, every creak of the floorboards sounding like thunder in the silence.

As they reached the door, Peter held up a hand, signaling for the team to halt. He listened carefully, hearing voices on the other side. Kovacs was inside, talking to someone. Peter's jaw clenched—this was it.

In one swift motion, Peter kicked in the door, his gun raised. "FBI! Don't move!"

The scene inside was chaotic. Kovacs and two others were seated at a table, papers spread out in front of them. Kovacs jumped to his feet, his hand instinctively reaching for a gun at his side. Peter moved fast, closing the distance between them in seconds. He grabbed Kovacs by the collar and slammed him against the wall, his forearm pressing hard against the man's throat.

"Where's the antidote?" Peter growled, his voice low and dangerous.

Kovacs sneered, his face twisted with mock amusement. "Antidote? You really think I'm going to help you?"

Peter tightened his grip, fury blazing in his eyes. "You poisoned Neal Caffrey. You tell me what it was, or I swear you'll wish you had."

Kovacs laughed bitterly. "Even if I wanted to, it's too late. The toxin—there's no cure. He's as good as dead already."

Peter's heart sank, but he didn't let it show. He slammed Kovacs harder against the wall, his voice barely above a whisper. "You're lying."

Kovacs stared him down, his grin fading. "Maybe. Maybe not. But I'll tell you this—if there was an antidote, it's not in my hands anymore."

Peter glanced at Diana, who was already securing Kovacs' associates. "Find out everything we can about these two," Peter ordered. "They've got to know something."

Peter turned back to Kovacs. "Who hired you? Why target Neal?"

Kovacs smirked. "You think it was about him? Neal Caffrey was just the bait. This is bigger than him, bigger than you. There are people moving pieces in ways you'll never understand, Agent Burke."

Peter shoved him back one last time before handcuffing him. "We'll see about that."

Back at the hospital, the mood was tense. Neal had taken a turn for the worse—his heart rate was erratic, and his breathing had grown dangerously shallow. The doctors had moved him to the ICU, and Jones, who went straight to the hospital after the raid while Peter personally escorted Kovacs to the office, stood watch outside the room, waiting for any news from Peter.

Peter stormed into the hospital moments later, his face set in determination. Diana followed behind, debriefing him on everything they'd uncovered so far. Kovacs hadn't been bluffing—there was no easy cure for the poison coursing through Neal's body. But they had learned one vital thing: there was a possible antidote, hidden with the people who had hired Kovacs.

"Kovacs said Neal was bait," Peter muttered, pacing the floor. "But for what?"

Diana pulled out her phone, scrolling through recent intel. "We're still digging, but Kovacs had connections to several European crime syndicates. One name keeps coming up—Kristoff Van Der Meer. He's a high-ranking figure in an art smuggling ring, specializing in rare and dangerous toxins."

Peter stopped pacing, his mind racing. "Van Der Meer. So Neal was targeted because of a job we stopped. He's retaliating."

Jones nodded. "Exactly. Van Der Meer's network is vast. If anyone knows how to stop this, it's him."

Peter's eyes hardened. "Then we find Van Der Meer. Whatever it takes."

Just then, a nurse stepped out of Neal's room, her face grim. "Agent Burke?"

Peter's heart skipped a beat. "Yes?"

She hesitated. "You should come inside. It's... it's not looking good."

Peter felt his chest tighten, but he forced himself to stay composed. He followed her into the room, his breath catching in his throat when he saw Neal. His friend's condition had deteriorated rapidly—his skin was pale, his chest rising and falling weakly under the weight of the oxygen mask. The machines beeped frantically, trying to keep up with Neal's failing body.

Peter stood at Neal's bedside, the weight of everything crashing down on him. He had made a promise to protect Neal, but now all he could do was watch as his friend slipped away.

"We're going to find him," Peter whispered, his voice raw. "We're going to save you, Neal. I swear it."

Time was running out. Neal's life hung by a thread, and Peter knew that the next few hours would be critical. The hunt for Van Der Meer had begun, and failure wasn't an option.