Three Days Later - Hospital
The antiseptic smell of the hospital was starting to feel familiar. Too familiar.
I sat in the chair beside Dante's bed, watching him sleep. The doctors said he'd been lucky—the bullet had missed major arteries and bone. Clean through and through, they'd called it. As if being shot could ever be "clean."
"You know staring at me won't make me heal faster," Dante said without opening his eyes.
"How long have you been awake?"
"Long enough to know you haven't left this room in six hours." He opened his eyes, looking at me with concern. "You need rest, Mia."
"I'm fine."
"You killed someone three days ago. You're not fine."
The words hit harder than they should have. Because he was right.
I kept seeing her face—the sniper. The moment my bullet hit. The way she'd fallen.
"She would've killed you," I said, my voice flat.
"I know. That doesn't make it easier."
