Chapter 43 The Unwritten Future

• The sedative held Alexander in a deep, still sleep for twelve hours. I did not sleep. I sat in the chair by the window of our shared, secured room, watching the city lights bleed into the dawn. The tremors in my hands had subsided, leaving behind a hollow, bone-deep exhaustion. The scene in the tent played behind my eyes on a relentless loop: the muzzle flash, the roar, Alexander’s body colliding with Varga’s, the feel of the needle finding its mark.
• It was a surreal tableau of violence that had rewritten our history in the span of a heartbeat. The man who had once been the architect of my destruction had become, in a brutal and instinctual act, my protector. The calculus was broken. The equation no longer balanced.
• When he finally stirred, it was with a low groan of pain. The sedative’s veil lifted slowly, and his blue eyes opened, clouded with confusion before sharpening into awareness. His gaze found me immediately, as if tethered.