25.1 | Her Hollow Point |

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I'd seen them hundreds of times these past months

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I'd seen them hundreds of times these past months.

Three silhouettes.

The boy at heart with dark hair, whose blue eyes shone like the stormy sea and searched the soul of any he set them upon.

A young visionary girl with a gentle spirit, whose paler African heritage rested nicely against any sunrise. She appeared sculpted from baked clay, though inside she seldom hardened from the torture and hardships she faced.

And the grumpy Veteran who'd never once killed.

He who stands before me now with a lime, stressed, and holographic gaze. He who thinks like a strategist and frets as though he were a frail old grandfather.

Theron's complexion and posture are strong, his strength returned and the milky pain washed away from his eyes.

He stands in the corner of this cave-like room with the grimmest look lining his features. Watching me. Waiting for me to make a move, to breathe a plan into motion as I had done so many times before.

But the cogs in my brain were not turning, clicking, and shoving anything into gear. There were no springs bouncing, encouraging deep thought and careful consideration.

The man before me says that Daniel couldn't be dead.

That every vision flashing before me is a design sewn purely to make sure I never get out of this personal hell.

Kiel had not won.

Grief turns to pain and melts into hopelessness.

My promise echoes out in front of me, the consequences weighing on my skin like a thick blanket of firmly applied pressure. Soft, but confident pushes in my chest to keep going.

No matter what I'd said about Remi, telling him I would protect her and see to it she reaches a better life, my disappointment truly suffocates when I even in passing contemplated surrendering a future with Lindon. As if a few night terrors could strip me from all truth.

I cannot die.

And I would not lose him.

"Are you ready to try again?" Theron asks, a low bored tone seeping in. However, boredom and nonchalance weren't the primary goals. It's that empty, captivating command in which it's really clear I have no alternative. "We're wasting daylight."

I shake my head, grunting in frustration, and smacking my wrists against the cuffs. "You act like it would be so easy to escape, do you have a plan, Genius?"

"Testy much?" He raises a brow at me. "You have to use your head to get out of here."

A low growl rumbles inside my throat. "Don't you think I've been trying?"

Theron takes a deep breath and ignores my spiteful wrath, stepping around the metal alter Kiel trapped me on. His eyes rake over every surface, carving out paths and long drawn out plans. The former man knows he can't touch anything, knows he's all but useless physically.

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