Smoke hung in the air like ghosts with unfinished business.
Bodies littered the ground—most still, a few twitching. The shelter looked like the end of the world carved itself into concrete.
Sam stood over the last man.
He was bleeding, breathing ragged, one leg shattered from her last shot. He'd dropped his weapon. Raised his hands. Blood streaked his temple.
But he was still alive.
And Sam's finger was on the trigger.
Her eyes were wild. Red-rimmed. Hair tangled with ash. Her chest rose and fell like a storm tide refusing to calm.
Lilly—barely upright, swaying, blood pouring down her side—reached for her.
"Sam…" her voice was barely a breath.
Sam didn't look away from the man.
"He shot you."
"I know," Lilly whispered.
"I should end him."
"I know."
Sam's finger tightened.
And then—
Lilly stepped between them.
Wobbling. Broken. But standing.
She pressed one blood-slick hand to Sam's wrist, easing the gun down.
"No," she whispered.
"He doesn't get to live after this," Sam hissed, trembling.
"But you do," Lilly said, eyes shining. "You get to live without this on you. Don't become them."
Sam's jaw clenched. Her arm shook.
But the gun… dropped.
The man hit the floor behind them, sobbing. Forgotten.
Lilly's legs gave out.
She collapsed.
Hard.
Sam caught her before her head hit the ground, pulling her into her arms with a gasp that sounded like breaking glass.
"Lilly?! No—no, no, no, come on."
Lilly blinked up at her, lips parting.
"I saved you," Lilly whispered, smile cracked and bloody.
"You ruined me," Sam whispered back, pulling her close.