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... too quiet. My ears are ringing with the echo of the gunshot, but I can still hear her voice—low and urgent—cutting through the chaos.

"Go after him, he’ll escape again. I’ll be fine."

"But—" I kneel beside her, my hands hovering uselessly over the gunshot wound on her thigh. Blood soaks through the torn fabric of her pants, slick and vivid against her skin. I feel my throat close. Panic claws at the edges of my chest. I want to scream. I want to cradle her and never let go.

< ...

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