Angrier.
And then—
A second sound.
A thud.
Heavy. Violent.
Like something—or someone—hitting the ground.
“Marcus?!”
I shouted into the phone, my voice breaking.
Static.
Breathing.
Then finally—
“I’ve got him.”
I almost collapsed from relief.
“Ethan? Is he okay?!”
A pause.
Too long.
“He’s alive,” Marcus said.
Not okay.
Not fine.
Alive.
My stomach dropped.
“What about his arm?!”
“I think it’s broken,” he said. “Badly.”
I slammed the gas pedal harder.
“I’m almost there—just stay with him!”
But Marcus didn’t respond.
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