Grace's world was pain and darkness.
She floated between consciousness and oblivion, aware only of gentle hands and a soft voice whispering words she couldn't quite grasp. The gunshot wound in her shoulder burned like fire, but she was alive. Somehow, impossibly, alive.
"Shh," the voice murmured. "You're safe now."
Grace forced her eyes open. A woman's face hovered above her—kind eyes, graying hair, features that seemed strangely familiar. The woman was tending to her wound with practiced efficiency.
"Who..." Grace's voice came out as a croak.
"Someone who's been looking for you for a very long time," the woman said softly. She pressed a cool cloth to Grace's forehead. "Don't try to talk yet. You've lost a lot of blood."
Grace's mind was foggy, but fragments of memory surfaced. Damie
