PREVIEW

... d-up church window—light filtered like fading hope.

I was bleeding, but not just from the leg.

The real wound was deeper. Inside. Where memories lived.

He knelt beside me, shaking, his hands soaked in red that wasn’t just mine.

“Stay with me,” he begged.

“I’ve got you.”

He didn’t.

He couldn’t.

And deep down, we both knew it.

The attack came fast. We had just finished gathering canned food from the market’s rubble.

A ...

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