A pause.
Then—
“You’re bleeding.”
I stop.
Close my eyes for half a second.
Regret it immediately.
Because the world tilts just enough to make a point.
Strong.
Very helpful.
I steady myself.
“I’ve had worse,” I say.
“I don’t doubt that,” he replies. “But you’re still slowing down.”
I turn to face him.
“I am not your responsibility.”
His expression doesn’t change.
“That’s where you’re wrong.”
Something in my chest tightens.
I ignore it.
“Five minutes,” he says. “We stop. Then we move again.”
“We don’t have time—”
“You pass out,” he cuts in, calm and firm, “and we’re both dead.”
I open my mouth to argue.
Close it again.
Because—
He’s right.
I hate that.
“…fine,” I mutter.
“…thank you, Lord…”
“What was that?” he asks.
“Nothing.”
