A tingle. Pins and needles. Agony blooming.
But feeling. I could feel again.
My fingers, clumsy and blood-slick, brushed against fabric. The rough texture of his jacket. I explored blindly. A seam. A hem. A bulge. A pocket.
Something hard inside it. Metal. Angular.
Keys. Car keys. And car keys had teeth. Jagged. Sharp.
"Fifty seconds!" Carter was counting down. "Forty-five!"
James's eyes found mine. I saw frustration in his gaze. Saw him realize there wasn't an opening, Carter's head was too close to mine, too risky. Any shot would go through me first.
My fingers found the pocket opening. Slipped inside. Closed around cold metal.
"Thirty seconds!" Carter shrieked.
I stared back at James.
I saw the fear. The impossible weight of this situation was getting to him. I saw his gaze flick to Daisy in the corner.
And in that splinter of time, a terrible, peaceful clarity settled over me.
Carter was going to kill me. That was inevitable. But Daisy didn't have to die. That was a choice Carter would make after.
Unless I gave him something else to think about.Unless I gave them the opening they needed. Unless I choose when and how this ended.
I'm sorry, Jack. I'm sorry. But I can do this. I can give her a chance. That has to be enough.
My fingers tightened around the keys. Found the longest one. The sharpest.
Not a weapon. Just a distraction. A shock. Seconds.
And seconds were all they needed.
"Twenty seconds!" Carter was screaming. "I'll do it! I swear?—"
With every ounce of strength left in my broken body, with a final, silent goodbye to Jack and a promise to Daisy, I drove my bound hands backward.
I didn't aim. Couldn't aim. Just struck as hard as I could.
The key hit something solid. His ribs, maybe.
Carter roared—a sound of pure, startled agony and fury.
His arm around my neck jerked violently. The gun wavered. Left my temple. Swung wide.
That split second.
Everything slowed down. Time stretched. I could see dust motes suspended in gray light. Could count my heartbeats. One, two, three.
I saw James's arm rise. Saw his pistol come up in a smooth, practiced motion. Two-handed grip. Steady.
His eyes locked on Carter's head. On the space where Carter's skull cleared mine. An angle measured in inches. Zero margin for error.
I saw his left eye close.
Then—
