I tried to drag myself to my feet but collapsed as pain seared through my leg. The wooden floor groaned under me as I barely caught myself before crashing down. My limbs felt like dead weights, every inch aching and sore.


    Grimacing, I braced against the broken wall, forcing myself upright enough to inspect my injury. The shredded pant leg clung to the wound, damp with sweat and blood. The long, pale scar beneath throbbed with every heartbeat. The Reckoning hadn''t just broken my heart. It had shattered my body too.


    Six deliveries a week instead of five. More miles. More pain. It wasn''t healing. It was getting worse.


    Breathing hard, I rummaged through my satchel, hands trembling. Relief washed over me when I felt the smooth edge of the pill bottle. Thank God nothing had fallen out during the chase. I pulled it free, ignoring the whisper of doubt gnawing at my mind.


    <i>One pill a week. That was the deal.</i>


    But the pain was unbearable. My fingers curled around a single capsule. I dry-swallowed it, wincing as it scraped my throat.


    <i>One a day. That''s what it had become.</i>The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    I clenched my fists, forcing myself not to take another. The craving burned beneath my skin, but I wouldn''t break. Not yet.


    The pain didn''t ease right away. It consumed me, pressing sharp and relentless into my skin. I curled into myself, arms wrapping around my stomach, eyes shut tight. If Mother and Grace weren''t waiting for me at home—


    No. I couldn''t think like that. I stayed because they needed me. I stayed because I loved them.


    Minutes crawled by, each breath a battle, until finally—finally—the drug hit. The pain dulled, fading into a numb haze. My leg felt distant, disconnected from the rest of me as the trembling in my hands eased.


    I exhaled shakily. But the numbness was dangerous. Weakness meant death. And I had a job to finish.


    Moving with deliberate care, I descended the ruined building. The drug made my head foggy, slowing my steps. I reoriented myself under the pale moonlight, tracing the skyline for landmarks—the crooked lamppost, the fallen statue, the building with the shattered clockface. Almost home. Just a few more blocks.


    The alley loomed ahead, a dark slit between broken buildings. I raised my hands above my head as I stepped into the dim light. The satchel hung heavily at my side, the knife visible in my right hand, its blade dull from overuse.


    A massive silhouette shifted ahead, blocking the way. The lantern he held glowed faintly behind the cloth wrapped around it, casting just enough light to reveal four figures. One by the door, two near the back wall, and him.


    <i>Grady.</i>


    The scar down his face caught the light as he sneered. The pistol holstered at his hip made my jaw clench. I hated everything about him.


    "Zandy," he drawled, recognizing me instantly. I also hated that stupid nickname. "You''re late."