A truck rolled past slowly.
Voices shouted.
“Check over there!”
“Bike’s down!”
“Someone call it in!”
My heart slammed against my ribs.
The bike.
Edge’s bike.
I squeezed my eyes shut.
For one second, underneath the drugs, the fear, the smoke, the blood, the shame, there was only one clear thought.
Regan had texted me to tell her I was breathing.
I fumbled for my phone with shaking fingers.
The screen was cracked. My thumb smeared blood across the glass. Missed calls covered everything.
Edge.
Regan.
Edge.
Regan.
Tarak.
Edge.
My vision blurred.
I opened Regan’s thread.
For a long time, I couldn’t make my fingers work.
Finally, I typed three words.
I’m breathing. Sorry.
I stared at them.
Then I deleted sorry.
It wasn’t enough.
It would never be enough.
I sent only the first part.
I’m breathing.
