Dane's POV:
5 Years Ago.
I go down.
Not the dramatic kind, not the kind they show in films where the world slows just enough for meaning to land.
I go down like something that has lost its function.
The man charging toward me collapses almost in the same breath.
His momentum carries him forward even after the bullet does its work, like his body hasn't yet accepted the fact that it's done.
Blood pours from his neck in a violent, impossible way, too much, too fast—like someone opened a tap that was never meant to exist.
It splashes against the dirt, dark and obscene, mixing with rainwater, turning the ground into something slick and alive.
My legs fold. I don't remember deciding to fall.
The impact rattles through me, a hollow echo from spine to skull.
My vision tilts violently, then fractures , pieces of the world sliding past each other without aligning.
