Page 152 of Shhh…It’s A Killer Story

Dawson actually laughed but it was weak and broken.

"You always were..."

Blood spilled over his lips.

"...too damn stubborn."

"No."

I kept pulling at the concrete.

"No."

No.

No.

No.

His fingers found my sleeve and his grip had already weakened.

"Go home..."

"No."

"...for me."

"No!"

"Elias."

"No!"

His hand slipped.

His eyes...

Slowly closed and never opened again.

The village became silent not because the fighting had ended but because something inside me had.

I woke up sitting bolt upright, air tore into my lungs. My heart hammered so violently against my ribs I honestly thought it might break through them.

02:03.

The red numbers glowed beside the bed like fresh wounds. The bedroom was dark, quiet.

No explosions. No smoke. No Dawson. Only the sound of my own breathing. I scrubbed both hands over my face. Still shaking.

"Fuck..."

The sheets were soaked so was my T-shirt another night, another ghost, another promise I couldn't keep. Sleep wasn't coming back. It never did after dreams like this.

I swung my legs over the edge of the mattress, the wooden floor cold beneath my bare feet. My lungs still hadn't settled, every breath scraping against the inside of my ribs like broken glass.

I stood there for a second.

Just breathing.