Chapter 21

It’s the same dream. The same dialogue; the same putrid smell of blood; the same end—with a bullet to my head—and then I wake up in cold sweat, breath heavy, and heart racing.

I’m tired. So tired of this.

Slowly, I rise to a sitting position, the action pulling on my wound. Wincing, I check the wound, it should be time to replace my dressing.

But when I raise my shirt, surprise colors my face to see the fresh gauze covering the wound. It’s been replaced in my sleep?

A low hum from beside me captures my attention.