Subsequently
I urge, my voice steady despite the turmoil in my chest.
As Achille rush off to make the vital call, I focus on stabilizing Clarisse, my hands trembling but discerned. Using my shirt, I apply pressure to the wound, desperately trying to slow the bleeding. I fight back waves of anger, channeling my outrage to keep Clarisse awake and fighting. With tears streaming down her face, Clarisse reach out, whispering words that my heart both cherish and mourn. "I always loved you, Grazie. You are my first and last love, and I'm so sorry for ever hurting you," she confess, her voice strained with pain and regret and my heart shatter at Clarisse's admission, the pain of our strained relationship suddenl
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