No dramatic spin. No slow, graceful fall.
Just force.
A brutal punch low in my side, then heat spreading too fast.
I looked down and saw dark blooming through my shirt.
“Dylan!” Nate yelled.
I tried to answer.
Another shot cracked.
Nate jerked.
Went down hard.
The world tilted.
After that, things came in pieces.
Hands under my arms.
Someone cursing.
Callum’s voice on a phone, distant and furious.
“Nearest hospital?”
“Albuquerque.”
“Cops there.”
“No time.”
“No time.”
That phrase followed me into the back of whatever vehicle they threw me into.
No time.
Nate was somewhere beside me, breathing wrong and swearing worse.
I tried to turn my head, but the pain opened wide enough to swallow the thought.
“Stay with me,” someone said.
Maybe Rafe.
Maybe God.
Maybe no one.
Blood made everything slick.
The ceiling of the vehicle bounced above me. Lights streaked past the windows. Sirens eventually joined us or followed us. I couldn’t tell. Pain came in waves, then faded into something colder, which I knew enough to understand was worse.
I thought about Georgia.
