He’s out. Unconscious. His eyes are closed, and his face is battered. But he’s still breathing. Shallow breaths.

“Don’t kill him,” Jane pleads, her voice low, urgent. “Don’t do that to yourself.”

She’s worried for me. Jane’s scared I’ll have a black mark on my soul from killing a killer. I don’t know if that’s true, but I know she’s right. I know it’ll stay with me. It’ll stay with Emily.

Not long ago, I would have said it was a worthless argument. I would have said that there was no soul worth saving. That I was already past redemption. I would have punched him one more time, even though he’s not fighting back.

I would have done that. My life felt like a wreck. I felt like a goddamn monster.

And then I met Jane.

I don’t know if that’s proof of anything. I don’t necessarily think it’s evidence that I’m a good person. There’s no evidence on the planet that could convince me I’m deserving of Jane Mendoza.

But killing Joe Causey would hurt her. It would make things hard for me, and it would hurt her, and I won’t do it. I’m done with all that. I’m done with the anger and the grief and the fear.

I’m done.

I don’t have to be that way anymore. I don’t know who I’ll be when all this is over. But… it won’t be over, will it? This is how things start. You defeat the villain and put him in the past, where he belongs.

I climb off of him and stagger to my feet. Fold my arms around Jane. It hurts when she hugs me back. Right—the bullet.

“I got shot,” I mention.

“I know.” Jane’s shaking. “I saw. I thought—” Her voice gives out. Must’ve thought this would kill me. She should know that nothing on earth is going to stop me from getting to her. “We should get you to the hospital.”

She starts to pull away, but I stop her. “Those kids called the cops. They’ll be here soon.”

“I could drive—”

“Just stand here with me.”

It feels too complicated to walk to my car. All the thousand things she’ll have to do to get it ready to drive. Adjusting the seat. Finding the damn hospital. No. I want her here, in my arms.

“I’m sorry,” Jane says against my chest. “I shouldn’t have gone to that meetup.”

“Fuck that. You should go to every meetup. Next time I won’t go to the bank.”

“Not if it ends like this.”