Page 32 of Faron
Blue was bent over a boy’s arm, stitching him up and telling him which superhero had the best healing powers. The kid giggled through tears. She was covered in blood, her hair falling out of its bun, and she didn’t even flinch.
Down the street, I could see Julia’s Place taking shape — Emery, Kat, and two local teens painting the first coat on the mural: wings stretching wide enough to carry this whole damn city.
I was halfway through repairing the busted toilet in the clinic’s back when the front door burst open and a teen stumbled inside.
“Doctor! My brother—he’s bleeding bad!”
Blue grabbed her med bag in a heartbeat.
“Faron, stay here and keep things calm. I’ve got this.”
“I’m coming with—”
“No. There’s a kid in the back with a fractured wrist. You stay.”
She didn’t wait for my response. She was already gone.
My gut twisted — that same dread I used to feel before a mission went sideways. But I buried it.
Ten minutes passed. Then the chime rang.
I looked up from wrapping a cast and saw him.
Hood low. Shoulders stiff. No fear. No injury.
Trouble.
“You looking for someone?” I asked, standing slowly.
He didn’t answer.
His hand twitched.
I saw the gun too late.
The shot exploded, but it wasn’t aimed at me — it was aimed at the back door.
Ather.
I ran.
She came through the back just as the bullet caught her.
I heard her scream.
Then she dropped.
“NO!” I hit the floor beside her, hands pressing to the wound, already soaked in red.
“Blue — stay with me. You stay, you hear me?” I shouted.
She tried to speak, but blood pooled at her lips.
“Don’t. Don’t talk. Just breathe. Stay awake.”
Shirley arrived in seconds, gloves on, already assessing. “Low entry. Might’ve hit internal organs.”
“We need to move her. Now.”
