Page 367 of Primal

She kisses me like I just returned from the dead.

I kiss her back like I did.

She pulls away. Her hands are shaking. Or maybe mine are. Two broken people, held together by nothing but each other.

My “Kristy?” and her “Did you get him?” clash at once.

We both shake our heads, breathing hard.

Her knees buckle. I catch her.

“Gone. She’s gone. Lana … I … they’re both dead.” She sobs against my chest.

I keep her upright, even as my legs tremble.

A low cough behind me.

Her head jerks up—eyes tracking past me.

“Look, I get it,” Wesley says. “But if we don’t move, he’s toast.”

Payton pulls back, looks down. Her face twists. “Fuck.”

She unzips her hoodie.

“Payton …”

She’s shivering. Left in nothing but a sports bra and skirt. Plus Kristy’s fanny pack—tight around her waist.

She presses the soaked hoodie to my stomach.

The world narrows to her face, her hands, the too-slow seep of red. Still fighting for me.

“Hey. You okay?” Wesley says.

Not to me. He’s edging toward White Lace—crouched between the bodies.

She rocks back on her heels. Hair stuck to her cheeks, hands and knees painted in her friend’s blood.

He extends a hand.

She reaches for it, eyes flicking past him. The corpses on the floor. The ones arranged in the front pew.

Wesley helps her to her feet. She trails after him.

“Come on,” Payton says, clutching my arm. “We have to go.”

I don’t move.

Her grip tightens. “Kade.”

“No. Not yet.”

She falters, blinks up. “What—?”

“His laptop.” I drag in a breath. “The footage—”

“Then smash it. Burn it. I don’t care.”