Alpha Mason's POV I arrived in my room, unsure when I had last even been here. The space felt foreign, too clean, too quiet, like it belonged to someone else. I sat heavily on the edge of the bed, crutches clattering to the floor beside me, and glanced down at my shirt. The fabric was still faintly stained with dried blood around the bullet holes. The memory of being shot surged back, sharp and vivid, and I gritted my teeth, fighting not to relive every second of it. "Shit!" I cursed under my breath, collapsing backward onto the mattress. I clawed at my shirt, ripping it off over my head despite the pain that ripped through my chest and shoulders, and then tossed it to the floor like it was contaminated. Groaning, I unzipped my jeans, shoved them down my legs, and kicked them aside. Crawling further up the bed, I shoved the crutches into the corner where they wouldn’t trip me later, grabbed the thick duvet, and buried my face in the pillow. I tried to sleep. Really tried. Bu
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