Not yet.
Not when the room is so horribly, painfully quiet.
There are three dead men on the ground…and one dead brother on my lap.
The silence has a pulse of its own. A thickness. A heaviness.
It presses in on me until I swear the air won’t enter my lungs.
I stare at the far wall, unable to turn, unable to look at the door. I’m blind to anything behind me. Just the stillness…the bodies…the blood cooling on my skin.
And then after maybe half an hour of nothing but my own frantic breathing…my heart rate shifts. Slows. Too much. Too fast.
Not. Freaking. Good.
Then, the lights flutter, before they, too, die. And, I’m left alone in the dark.
Terror spikes through me. My vision flickers. My pulse stutters. My body is trying to shut down. Trying to protect me the only way it knows how. But if I pass out now, if someone comes down those stairs… I won’t be able to defend myself.
I won’t even be able to see who it is.
I shake my head violently, trying to jolt myself awake, trying to force my system to stay online.
But the black floaters start.
My ears ring.
The edges of the room tilt.
No. Not now. Not like this.
“Please…” I try to whisper through the tape. Nothing escapes but a muffled hum.
Knuckles took a bullet for me.
He stood up when his body had already given up.
He fought death just long enough to get me one more breath.
One more chance.
“I-I’m okay,” I choke out into the tape, tears burning my eyes.
I’mnotokay.
My pulse dips again.
My breathing stutters.
I can feel the darkness reaching for me. Soft, familiar, and inevitable.
And I know with absolute clarity…If I go under now…
I might not wake up.
Because while Knuckles took the bullet meant to end my life…the wounds carved into my neck are still trickling blood.
Still open. Still leaking. And I can’t reach up to stop it.
