It has been a week. A week since Chloe broke into Cassian's house. A week since Cassian took the bullet meant for me. A week since Cassian lay near death in my arms.
The scene replayed in my mind like a nightmare I couldn't escape. Cassian collapsing, blood pouring from his wound, staining his white shirt red. My hands trembling as I pressed against the hole in his chest, desperate to keep his life from slipping away.
"Cassian, stay with me," I had whispered, my voice breaking with each word.
His eyes had found mine through the pain. "You need to call... for help," he'd managed.
I remember staring at my blood-covered hands, panic rising in my throat. Who could I call? Not an ambulance—they'd ask questions. Not the police—they'd dig too deep. We were in a foreign country, at Cassian's p
