"Malcolm—"
Iyisha's eyes snap open.
For a moment she doesn't know where she is.
Then the memory crashes back.
Headlights.
Men laughing.
The rifle pressed to the back of Malcolm's head.
Her body jerks upright.
"No—"
Her gaze finds him instantly.
Malcolm sits a few feet away against the wall, looking at her with his arms crossed.
Alive.
Iyisha scrambles to him before her mind can catch up. Her leg buckled, but she ignored it and ran to him. Her hands grab his shirt, fingers clutching the fabric like she's afraid he might disappear if she lets go.
"You're okay," she chokes.
A sob tears out of her before she can stop it. Her forehead drops against his chest as her shoulders shake.
"You're okay…"
Her hands press against him, feeling the solid warmth through the fabric.
Real.
Alive.
Then something feels wrong.
Iyisha slowly pulls back.
Her fingers are still gripping his shirt.
She stares at them.
For a second she just watches them rest there.
Her hands.
