I jolted awake from a dead sleep to the sudden roar of defeaning tinnitus, sitting bolt upright in bed, my eyes flying open just in time to witness my vision blur beyond comprehension.
I balled my hands into tight fists. My pulse was racing. The image that appeared in my head was crystal clear, and I wished it wasn’t.
I saw the entrance to Faustine’s cave, as if I was standing in the tunnel. The rubble from Reid forcing his way through the narrow opening was still scattered all over the ground. I heard heavy breathing, accentuated with frenetic growls and frustrated cries.
And sitting on his knees on the ground was none other than Copeland.
He was alive.
But he had lost an arm. It looked like it had been ripped off at the shoulder. His abdomen was wrapped in a dirty, blood-soaked cl
