Jessy’s pov :
The sterile beep of the heart monitor pulled me from the fog, a rhythmic insistence that I was still alive. My eyelids fluttered open, heavy as lead, and the world swam into focus: white walls, fluorescent lights humming overhead, the faint scent of antiseptic mingling with the metallic tang of blood, my blood.
Pain radiated from my chest, a dull, throbbing fire wrapped in bandages, every breath a reminder of the bullet that had torn through me. I lay in a hospital bed at Cheyenne Memorial, IV lines snaking into my arm, monitors charting my fragile hold on life. Gods, what had I done?
The warehouse flashed in my mind, Darius's gun, Naomi's wide eyes, the split-second choice to throw myself in front. Regret and relief warred inside me, but mostly shame. How could I
