I need to get up.
The thought is automatic. Instinctive. I can't stay here. Can't put her in danger. Can't drag her back into a world she fought so hard to escape.
I need to leave.
Now.
I try to push myself up.
My arms shake. My core screams. The pain in my side explodes into something white-hot and blinding.
I don't care.
I've worked through worse.
I plant my palms against the mattress. Push.
Get maybe two inches off the pillow before my body gives out.
Fuck.
Try again.
This time I make it further. Three inches. Four. My abs are on fire. My side feels like it's being torn open all over again.
But I'm moving.
I'm—
A hand lands on my chest.
Firm. Flat. Pressing me back down.
"You're not going to move."
Her voice.
Low. Hard. Brooking no argument.
I freeze.
My eyes find her in the darkness.
The light from the door catches the edges of her face. The line of her jaw. The curve of her cheek.
She looks tired.
She looks angry.
She looks?—
There she is.
The thought rises unbidden. The same thought I've had a thousand times over the past two years. Every time I checked the alerts. Every time I saw her name on my screen.
There she is.
"Marina."
