Krystal’s Point Of View
The collision on the road broke something open somewhere inside me-like a window you only find out is weak when it breaks. My heart was startled in my throat, with a louder ring than within the room.
Colt had already reached the window, quick and steady, with the strain stretching all his quiet. His hand went instinctively toward the waistband of his jeans where he always carried a weapon which he would never officially confess to carrying. His locomotion was mechanical, practised. He has lived a million times like this moment.
He did not turn around at me, not immediately. His face was plain and hard looking, bristled with a suggestion of aggression, all sharp cheekbones and furrowed brow, an expression wrought by a lifetime of mistrust, like rock hewn by the w
