Peter stood by Neal's bedside, the rhythmic hum of the ventilator that Neal had recently been placed on, filling the room. The once vibrant and irrepressible Neal Caffrey now lay unconscious, his chest barely rising with each mechanical breath. The machines beeped steadily, but their sounds felt like a countdown to the end of hope. Neal was now fully on life support.

Peter's heart clenched painfully as he watched his friend's motionless form. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. Neal had escaped death countless times before, always with a grin, a joke, or a clever plan. But now, Peter couldn't rely on Neal's quick thinking or his silver tongue. He needed something Neal couldn't give—an antidote.

Diana stood quietly at the doorway, her usual tough demeanor tempered by concern. "We'll get him back, Peter," she said softly. "But we need to move fast."

Peter took a long breath and nodded. He couldn't let himself fall apart, not now. Neal needed him. "What do we know about Van Der Meer? Any leads?"

Diana checked her phone, her expression grim. "Van Der Meer's been hard to pin down, but we've narrowed down his operations to two locations. One's a warehouse near the docks, and the other is an upscale penthouse in Manhattan. Both are heavily guarded, but we've got enough to move in."

"We hit both," Peter said immediately. "Split the teams. I want eyes on every corner of those locations. He knows something about this poison, and we're going to get it out of him."

"I've already got Jones and a team preparing for the warehouse," Diana replied. "We'll take the penthouse. We don't have much time."

Peter looked back at Neal one more time, his chest tightening as he watched his friend's shallow breathing. His hand hovered over Neal's arm, but he didn't touch him. It felt like too fragile a moment. He couldn't afford to say goodbye—not yet.

"I'll be back," Peter whispered, though he wasn't sure if Neal could hear him. He turned sharply, his eyes hard with determination. "Let's move."

The tactical teams assembled in the dead of night. The warehouse was their first target. Peter, Jones, and a group of agents moved in, their steps silent and precise as they approached the shadowy building by the docks. The air was thick with tension, the sound of the nearby water sloshing against the pier the only noise.

Jones held up a hand, signaling for the team to stop. "We've got movement inside," he whispered. "Looks like guards at every exit."

Peter's eyes narrowed. "We go in quiet. We can't risk them destroying any evidence or intel before we get what we need."

The team moved swiftly, cutting the power to the warehouse and slipping inside under the cover of darkness. Inside, the place was a labyrinth of crates, shipping containers, and dimly lit corridors. Peter's heart raced as they navigated the maze, every corner a potential threat.

They reached a room near the back where low voices could be heard. Peter motioned for his team to fan out. He kicked the door open and charged in, his gun raised.

"FBI! Hands in the air!"

The men inside scrambled, some reaching for weapons, but Jones and the other agents were quicker. In seconds, the guards were disarmed, and the room was secured.

Peter stormed to the center of the room, where a man in a dark suit sat at a table, his hands raised. He wasn't Van Der Meer, but Peter recognized him—one of Van Der Meer's key associates.

"Where's Van Der Meer?" Peter demanded, grabbing the man by the collar and shoving him against the wall.

The man smirked, clearly trying to hide his fear. "You're too late, Agent Burke. Van Der Meer's long gone. You'll never find him."

Peter's grip tightened. "You'd better start talking, or I swear I'll make sure you regret it. We know Van Der Meer is behind the poisoning of Neal Caffrey, and you're going to tell me how to fix it."

The man's face twisted into a sneer. "You think I care about your friend? Van Der Meer has powerful allies. He won't be found until he wants to be. And as for the poison? There's no antidote. That toxin was designed to kill—slowly and painfully."

Peter felt his blood boil. He shoved the man harder against the wall. "You're lying."

The man's eyes flickered with uncertainty, but he kept his arrogant facade. "Believe what you want. But you're running out of time."

Peter turned to Jones, his voice sharp. "Get him out of here. Tear this place apart. I want every file, every scrap of information."

Jones nodded and hauled the man away as the rest of the team began searching the room.

Peter's heart raced. This wasn't good. If Van Der Meer had truly disappeared, Neal's chances were dwindling by the minute. And if the antidote didn't exist…

He shook the thought away. There had to be something. There had to be.

Meanwhile, Diana and her team had reached the penthouse in Manhattan. It was sleek, modern, and cold—a stark contrast to the grimy warehouse Peter was tearing apart.

They breached the doors and swiftly neutralized the guards, making their way to the upper floors. Diana's pulse quickened as they reached the top level—this had to be it. The place where Van Der Meer operated, where the answers lay.

"Clear the room," Diana ordered, her voice calm but urgent. They pushed through the final door, and there, sitting at a desk with a glass of wine, was Kristoff Van Der Meer himself.

He looked up, utterly unfazed by the intrusion.

"Ah, Agent Barrigan. I wondered when the FBI would show up." His voice was smooth, dripping with arrogance.

Diana didn't waste time. "Van Der Meer, you're under arrest. But if you cooperate and tell us how to save Neal Caffrey, you might not rot in prison for the rest of your life."

Van Der Meer chuckled, swirling his wine. "Neal Caffrey? I suppose you mean the charming young man I had poisoned." He set the glass down. "I must admit, his reputation precedes him."

Diana's patience wore thin. "What poison did you use? Where's the antidote?"

Van Der Meer smiled coldly. "There isn't one. That particular toxin was designed for finality. I told Kovacs as much."

Diana stepped forward, her voice deadly. "If you don't start talking, I'll make sure you never see the inside of a courtroom."

Van Der Meer's smile faded slightly. He leaned back, considering her words. "There is no antidote," he repeated, but this time there was hesitation. "But… there is a stabilizing agent. It could buy him more time. A few days, perhaps."

Diana's eyes flashed. "Where is it?"

Van Der Meer shrugged, his expression indifferent. "I'm not in the business of charity, Agent. What's in it for me?"

Diana gritted her teeth, but she couldn't afford to let her anger control her. Neal didn't have time for games. "You cooperate, and maybe I'll put in a good word with the DA. Or maybe, just maybe, I'll let you live long enough to see trial."

Van Der Meer studied her for a long moment before finally nodding. "The stabilizing agent is in a vault. Code 6548. It's enough to give your friend a fighting chance, but you'll need more if you want to save him permanently."

Diana didn't wait for him to finish. She called it in and sent agents to secure the vault. "You'd better hope it works."

Van Der Meer's smile returned, cold and calculating. "I wouldn't lie to you, Agent. Not about something so… final."

Hours later, Peter rushed back to the hospital with the vial of the stabilizing agent in hand. The doctors quickly administered it to Neal, and Peter stood back, holding his breath as he watched for any sign of improvement.

Neal's heart rate steadied, and his breathing, though still aided by the ventilator, seemed stronger.

Peter felt a surge of hope. It wasn't over yet. They had bought time, but now the race for a full cure was on.

The hospital room was dimly lit, the only sound the soft hum of machines monitoring Neal's fragile condition. Peter sat in the chair beside Neal's bed, his face etched with exhaustion. For the first time since all this began, there was a glimmer of hope. The stabilizing agent had done its job—Neal's vitals had improved, his skin no longer held the sickly pallor it had before, and his heart rate had steadied. The doctors had told Peter that Neal's body was fighting back, but it was temporary. Without the full antidote, this was nothing more than a reprieve.

Peter leaned forward, rubbing his face. He hadn't slept much, and it showed. Neal lay unconscious, but the rise and fall of his chest, though mechanical, was a small comfort. Peter hadn't left his side, afraid that if he did, Neal might slip away for good.

A soft knock on the door broke Peter from his thoughts. Elizabeth entered the room quietly, carrying two cups of coffee. She placed one beside Peter, her eyes full of concern as she glanced at Neal.

"How is he?" she asked softly, as if speaking too loudly might disturb Neal's fragile state.

Peter sighed. "Stable, for now. The doctors are keeping him sedated to give his body a chance to rest, but they keep reminding me… it's not enough." His voice cracked slightly. "If we don't find the antidote soon, this… this isn't going to last."

Elizabeth rested a hand on Peter's shoulder, her touch warm and steady. "We will, Peter. You've never given up on Neal, and we're not going to start now. Mozzie's working his connections. There's still time."

Peter nodded, but doubt gnawed at him. Time. How much of it did Neal have left? The days were slipping away, and with every passing hour, the window for saving his friend grew smaller.

Elizabeth squeezed Peter's shoulder before sitting down beside him. "Mozzie's convinced there's a black-market dealer who might have access to the antidote. He's been following some leads, but it's risky."

Peter's jaw clenched. "Risky how?"

Elizabeth hesitated, choosing her words carefully. "This dealer… he's dangerous, and Mozzie thinks the FBI looking into it might scare him off. Mozzie's trying to handle it alone."

Peter cursed under his breath. Of course Mozzie would go rogue. He hated the idea of Mozzie taking those kinds of risks, but right now, Neal's life hung in the balance. If anyone could navigate the dangerous world of black-market deals, it was Mozzie.

Before Peter could respond, Neal's heart monitor suddenly spiked. The beeping grew erratic, and within seconds, alarms blared throughout the room. Peter's heart leapt into his throat as he jumped to his feet.

"Neal!" Peter shouted, panic rising in his chest.

Doctors and nurses rushed into the room, pushing Peter and Elizabeth aside. Neal's body jerked violently as his heart rate plummeted, his chest heaving as if he were gasping for air despite the ventilator.

"He's crashing!" one of the doctors yelled, grabbing a defibrillator.

Peter felt Elizabeth's hand tighten around his arm, her face pale with fear. He watched in horror as Neal's body convulsed, the once-steady heartbeat now reduced to chaotic blips on the monitor.

"Clear!" The doctor shouted, and Neal's body jerked as the defibrillator shocked him.

The monitor remained flat, a long, eerie tone filling the room.

"Again!" The doctor's voice was sharp, controlled, but there was urgency in her eyes. She shocked Neal a second time, and Peter's heart felt like it had stopped along with Neal's.

For a moment, nothing happened.

Then, mercifully, the monitor beeped again. Weak, but there.

Peter let out a shaky breath as the doctors continued their work, stabilizing Neal's heart. But the close call shook him to his core. Neal had nearly died. And if they didn't find the antidote soon, this wouldn't be the last time.

After what felt like an eternity, the medical staff stepped back, their faces grim. One of the doctors approached Peter and Elizabeth.

"We've managed to stabilize him again, but his body is under immense stress. He's fighting, but we can't keep doing this. Without the antidote, he's going to crash again, and the next time… we may not be able to bring him back."

Peter felt the weight of the words sink into his chest like a stone. He nodded, unable to speak.

Elizabeth pulled Peter into a tight embrace, her voice soft but fierce. "We're going to find it, Peter. We're not giving up."

Back at home, Peter sat at the dining room table, his head in his hands. The events of the day played on a loop in his mind—Neal convulsing, the sound of the heart monitor flatlining, the desperate scramble to revive him. It felt like a nightmare he couldn't wake up from.

Elizabeth brought over a cup of tea, setting it in front of him. "You've been in your head all night," she said gently. "Talk to me."

Peter ran a hand through his hair, feeling the weight of it all. "I don't know what else to do, El. I've chased down every lead, every contact. And nothing. Every time we get close, it feels like we're a step behind. And Neal's…"

His voice broke. He hadn't allowed himself to admit how scared he really was.

Elizabeth sat beside him, her voice soothing. "Neal's strong, Peter. He's always been a fighter. But you can't do this alone. Mozzie's out there doing everything he can, and you've got the whole team backing you."

Peter exhaled slowly. "I'm afraid it's not enough. Even if we find this antidote, we don't know what we're walking into. Van Der Meer's network is bigger than we thought. He's hiding something. I can feel it."

"Then let's figure out what that is," Elizabeth said, her determination cutting through the despair. "There's something you're missing, Peter. You've always found a way."

Just then, the door creaked open, and Mozzie stepped inside, looking more disheveled than usual. He dropped his hat on the table and sat down heavily, rubbing his hands together.

"I've got news," Mozzie said, his tone unusually grave.

Peter's head snapped up. "What did you find?"

Mozzie looked at both of them, his eyes dark with worry. "There's a man—a scientist. Used to work for Van Der Meer's organization, creating all sorts of toxins and antidotes. Word on the street is he's gone into hiding, but he's the one who can reverse what's been done to Neal."

Peter's heart leapt, but there was a catch in Mozzie's voice that made him pause. "Where is he?"

Mozzie hesitated, his eyes shifting nervously. "The problem is… he's being hunted. Not just by Van Der Meer's people, but by the FBI."

Peter's brow furrowed. "Why?"

Mozzie shrugged, his face tense. "He's wanted for some serious stuff. The kind of crimes that get you on international most-wanted lists. But if we can find him before anyone else does, we might have a chance at saving Neal."

Peter's mind raced. This was it—the break they needed. But the danger was clear. Whoever this man was, they'd be going into uncharted territory to get him.

"We're running out of time," Peter muttered, standing up. "We have to move fast. If he's in hiding, we need to be two steps ahead of Van Der Meer."

Mozzie nodded. "I'll pull in every favor, every contact I have. But we need to be careful. One wrong move, and were shut us down for good."

Peter looked at Elizabeth and Mozzie, the weight of the situation pressing on him. Neal's life depended on this. If they failed, there wouldn't be another chance.

"We find him," Peter said, his voice hard with resolve. "Whatever it takes, we find him—and we bring Neal back."

And with that, the race for the full antidote began.

The hospital room was eerily silent except for the steady beeping of the machines, each sound a cruel reminder of how tenuous Neal's grip on life was. Peter sat beside Neal, his gaze locked on his friend's pale, motionless face. The stabilizing agent had given them time, but Peter could feel it slipping away. Every hour that passed without the antidote felt like a countdown to the inevitable.

The door creaked open, and Mozzie slipped into the room, his usual eccentric energy replaced by grim determination. He pulled up a chair beside Peter, glancing at Neal with a mix of fear and helplessness.

"I've got more leads," Mozzie said quietly, his voice barely a whisper. "Jones is narrowing down the scientist's location. We're close."

Peter nodded but didn't take his eyes off Neal. "Close isn't enough, Mozzie," he muttered. "We need that antidote now."

Before Mozzie could respond, Neal's heart monitor suddenly flatlined. The beeping was replaced by a shrill, continuous tone that filled the room with dread. Neal's body convulsed, and his chest stopped rising.

"No!" Peter shouted, springing to his feet as doctors rushed into the room.

A nurse began compressions as a doctor wheeled the defibrillator in. "We need to restart his heart. Clear!"

The doctor shocked Neal's chest, but the monitor stayed flat.

"Clear again!" The defibrillator shocked Neal once more, but still, nothing.

Peter stood frozen, his heart pounding in his chest. Elizabeth appeared in the doorway, her eyes wide with horror as she took in the scene. Mozzie backed up, his face pale as the beeping continued to wail.

"Come on, Neal," Peter muttered under his breath. "Fight, damn it. Fight."

The medical team worked frantically, but the clock was ticking. The longer Neal went without a heartbeat, the slimmer the chances were of bringing him back.

"Clear!" The doctor tried again, and Neal's body jerked with the force of the shock. But the monitor remained flat.

After what felt like an eternity, the doctor stepped back, her face pale with exhaustion and defeat. "We've done everything we can. I'm calling it."

Peter's world stopped.