I love you.
Everything slows, an impossible drag of time, like the world itself is reluctant to watch what comes next.
My father moves.
There’s a sharp crack of a bullet, final sound, too loud in the small room, too clean, toocertain.
Emmy jerks in his hold, a small broken motion, and then the strength drains out of her as if someone cut the thread that kept her here. Her body slackens. Her eyes find mine for the briefest heartbeat, wide, shining, then the light in them falters as the blood starts pouring from her temple.
My soul tears.
A sound rips out of me, raw and animal, and I don’t recognise it as my own until it’s echoing off hospital walls.
I draw.
I fire at my father.
The recoil hammers up my arms as I send rage across the room in rapid, shaking bursts, forcing my father to stagger, forcing his grip to break, forcing him to lose control of the one thing he never deserved to touch.
Emmy slips.
I surge forward.
And pain detonates through my body.
A violent, searing impact punches into me from behind as my fathers men take their shots at me. Stealing my balance, stealing air, stealing time. My knees hit the floor hard. For a second, everything is nothing but fire and the taste of panic.
But I don’t stop.
I can’t.
I drag myself forward, hands slipping in blood, breath shredding in my throat. The distance between me and Emmy feels like a lifetime. My vision tunnels, the edges darkening, but I keep moving, because the only thing worse than dying is dying without reaching her.
I crawl.
I bleed.
I reach.
My fingers close around her.
I pull her into my arms like I can stitch her back together with the force of my desperation, cradling her against my chest. She’s too still. Too quiet. Her skin already cooling against mine in a way that makes something inside me howl.
“No,” I rasp, voice breaking apart. “No, Emmy, look at me.”
Tears spill down my face, hot and relentless. I press my forehead to hers, shaking.
“I love you,” I choke. “I love you. I love you, please don’t, please don’t leave me.”
I kiss her like it’s a prayer and a promise and a last breath all at once, like love can be enough to pull her back from the edge.
But she doesn’t move.
And the horrible truth settles in, heavy and final:
She’s already gone.
My strength drains out in slow, unstoppable waves. My head lowers to her chest, because there is nowhere else I want to be when the dark comes for me too. My lungs struggle. My heartbeat feels distant, fading.
