The little girl knelt in front of Aran’s body and prodded it. Her head snapped up, dark eyes wide. “She’s—” she whispered so quietly I couldn’t hear the rest of what she said. I heaved up bile. Jinx stumbled backward, eyes frantic. “She’s alive.” Her words penetrated. I crawled forward through the broken glass and blood, the Ortega brothers following mindlessly. “Aran!” I screamed as I collapsed atop my best friend. Bullet holes covered her body, and every inch of pale skin was stained red. Her skin was icy, colder than snow. She was dead. It was a cruel joke.
