One more shouting orders behind cover.
I can barely stand.
Barely breathe.
But I shove forward.
One broken, staggering step at a time.
Because if I die here, she’ll never know.
She’ll never know that she mattered.
That she changed everything.
That the man who walked away from her wasn't half as strong as he thought he was.
Another shot grazes my shoulder.
Burns hot and sharp.
I grunt and keep moving.
The last merc sees me coming and panics.
Bad move.
I tackle him before he can aim right.
We crash to the ground, and I hammer my fists into his face until he stops moving.
Until there’s nothing left but the sound of my ragged breathing and the thud of my broken heart.
I stagger back.
Survey the mess.
Dead men.
Broken stone.
Burning air.
And me, barely alive and bleeding out into the dirt.
I stagger toward the street, clutching my ribs.
The world tilts.
Colors smear.
Noise filters in—boots pounding. Shouts I can't quite make out.
Then strong hands grab me.
I snarl on instinct, swinging wild, but a sharp voice cuts through the haze.
"Stand down, Traz! It's us!"
