Dane's POV:
He's gone.
The words don't arrive all at once. They come in fragments, circling, refusing to land, like my mind is waiting for someone to correct it.
Like if I stay still long enough, someone will walk in and say there's been a mistake. That it was another car. Another man. Another body.
He's not here anymore.
We spoke a couple of hours ago.
Not yesterday.
Not last week.
Hours.
His voice had been steady. Focused. Familiar.
Almost happy.
He asked where I was. I told him I was on my way back. I told him about the Commander.
I told him to stay put. I told him not to leave the house under any circumstances.
He wasn't even supposed to leave.
I was supposed to meet him at home.
My body feels wrong, like it's been flash-frozen from the inside out.
Ice creeps through my veins, slow and deliberate, spreading like invasive roots, locking my joints, hardening my spine.
Someone shot him clean.
