Michael’s POV Pain.It hit me in waves—sharp, stinging, relentless. The bullet hadn’t gone in, but it had grazed deep enough to rip through skin and flesh like a hot blade. My upper arm throbbed violently, and though I had managed to sit upright, the dizziness clawing at my vision made it feel like the room was swaying. Blood trickled steadily through the soaked fabric of my shirt. I was losing too much. Too fast.Across from me, Archer paced like a lion trapped in its own pride. His eyes wild, jaw clenched, no remorse, and no apology. Just bitter resentment and the stench of his own pride.“I think you’re some kind of hero, huh,” he muttered, kicking a wooden crate against the wall.“I’m not a hero,” I said through clenched teeth, suppressing a groan. My wrists were still bound behind me, but my voice, my pride, was free. “I took a bullet for someone i care about. You’re gonna throw a tantrum now?”He spun toward me, nostrils flaring. “Don’t act like a martyr, Michael. You’re the
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