Cruz:
She woke up like nothing had happened.
Scratch that—she woke up like everything had happened, and she was still ready to burn the world down anyway.
No shaking hands. No tears. No hesitation.
Just quiet resolve as she pulled on her jeans and tied her hair back like she was gearing up for war.
My war.
And she was walking into it like it was hers too.
I watched her from the doorway, arms crossed, heart thudding in a way that made no damn sense. Last night I’d held her so close I could barely breathe. Washed her in the soft light of the bathroom while blood—not hers—swirled down the drain like a memory I’d never let myself forget.
He was dead.
One shot. Clean. But not painless. Not for me.
Not when I saw her face as I barged in.
Not when she cried my name like it was a goddam
