“Then who is?” I lift a hand to his face, gesturing at his silver-lined eyes, but he clasps it, stilling me. My brain is foggy, but even I know a cowboy crying when I see one. “Fallon.” He bows his head, grips my fingers with his own calloused fingertips. “You are.” His throat works over the words. “You’re hurt.” “Liar.” I try to remember what happened before this—just before these strange shadows—but can’t. His throat works. “You’re in the hospital.” “What happened?” My words are garbled, thick. His face falls, full of raw emotion. “You don’t remember?” Fear buzzes through my body, but I
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