The moment the door slammed behind him, the room seemed to shrink around me.

The echo of gunfire still hung in the air, sharp and jagged, as if it had sliced through the night and left the edges bleeding. My heartbeat matched the staccato rhythm — quick, erratic — every thump of my pulse reminding me that whatever was happening out there was no small fight.

I sat frozen in the middle of the bed, the sheets still tangled around my bare legs, my skin still warm and damp from his touch. A ...