I stared at my phone for a long time before calling.
As much as I hated to admit it, I needed Greg. The ache in my side from where I got shot was starting to burn in a way I couldn’t ignore. I was still bleeding, the blood soaking into the edge of my shirt. I wasn’t healing fast enough.
The bastards had used something new—silver-laced or chemically modified to screw with our regeneration. Whatever it was, it worked.
The line clicked, and Greg picked up after two rings.
“Hello.” I exhaled and leaned against a tree. “How’s the honeymoon?”
“Cut the crap, Ethan. Why are you calling me?”
Right. Straight to the point, as usual.
“They came again,” I said. “More of them. Twice as many. I took most of them down, but…” I hesitated, pressing a hand to my side. “They’re not backing off, Greg.
