He could still smell the blood on his shirt, even through his coat. He didn't know if it was his imagination, but the scent was so thick and sharp he could almost taste the metal tang of it. Every slap of his shoes on the pavement sounded like gunshots. He blinked and saw France, saw Greece, saw that long layover in Lebanon and short trip through Dubai. He remembered the rumbling waves of the Pacific Ocean and his mother's fingers clawing at the air as she struggled for one last breath. Guilt, grief, and pain were corrosive toxins in his veins, tearing him apart from the inside out. He let
