He rushed toward Mara, frantic, but it was too late.
He wasn’t fast enough.
She got off two shots.
At first, I thought I was hallucinating when someone else rushed toward me out of the shadows. I twisted as much as I could as the shots rang out around us.
A heavy weight knocked into me as a shock of pain erupted near my right shoulder.
I screamed.
Everything went black, and for a moment, I wondered whether I was dead.
But then I opened my eyes and—someone was draped over me. A man, his arms wrapped around me, was shielding me with his whole body. Blood poured from a wound I couldn’t see, dripping onto my jeans, warm against the freezing air.
My brain couldn’t catch up. Couldn’t make sense of anything.
I looked up automatically, searching for Graham, but I couldn’t find him.
My breath stalled to nothing but short, broken puffs of air.
Then my gaze caught on movement near the floor a few feet away.
I gasped. Graham was on top of Mara, the two of them struggling, a frantic tangle of limbs and desperation. My heart lodged itself in my throat. I couldn’t see the gun.
A fresh tremor racked my body.
“Quinn—are you okay?”
The voice was close, breathless, strained with pain.
I dragged my gaze up to the man still shielding me. His face was twisted, lips pale and tight, but I recognized him. The nervous guy from the survivors group. What was he doing here?
“Quinn?” he asked again, falling a little as he fought to stay upright.
I didn’t know how to answer, so I looked back at Graham.
He was still fighting Mara.
“Graham,” I tried to shout, but my voice came out more of a weak, broken plea. “Graham!”
Another gunshot exploded through the barn.
I screamed his name again, louder this time, pouring every desperate, terrified piece of me into the sound.
The world tilted, swimming around me in a blur. My head felt like it was full of fog and so heavy. Too heavy.
Grahamhadto be okay.
“Quinn.”
His voice. It was close. Relief crashed through me so violently it hurt.
I forced my eyes open. I hadn’t realized I’d closed them.
Graham was kneeling in front of me. His hands cupped my face, fingers trembling. Pure terror was carved into every line of his expression.
“Quinn,” he said again, voice ragged. He kept saying my name like he needed to anchor himself to it. “Are you okay?”
