Eloise is shaking so hard the seatbelt rattles. Her breath comes in short, sharp bursts. Her good hand clutches her broken wrist as if she’s trying to keep the bones from spilling out. She’s covered in dirt, blood—some hers, most not. Tears streak down her face faster than she can wipe them away. I drive. Streetlights flash rhythmically across her face—white, shadow, white, shadow. Her eyes stay locked on the windshield, unfocused and glassy. Shock. Pain. Terror. All of it sits inside her. “Breathe, Ellie,” I say, keeping my voice low. “Slow. You’re okay now.” But she’s not okay. Not yet. And we both know it. She presses her forehead to the window and lets out a small, wounded sob. The kind that guts a man from the inside. I speed through the empty road, pushing eighty, ninety—far enough to get away from the fire, the bodies, the smoke. Far enough that nobody will see the man…… the father who just tore apart a compound like a war machine. She sniffles. “My… my wrist…
Last Updated : 2025-11-20 Read more