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Everything shifts.
A shot cracks—
Too close.
Too sharp.
Mila jerks.
Time—
Slows.
“Mila!”
She stumbles back half a step.
My chest locks.
I’m already moving before the thought even finishes.
I grab her—
Pull her down behind cover as another round slams into the tree above us.
“Talk to me,” I demand.
She’s breathing hard.
Too hard.
“I’m fine,” she says.
Liar.
“Where?”
She hesitates.
That’s all I need.
“Where,” I repeat, sharper.
“…Side,” she admits.
I don’t even think.
My hand moves to her waist—finding the spot.
Warm.
Wet.
Blood.
Something inside me snaps.
“Stay down,” I order, voice deadly calm.
