“Hey,” Gabe said. “Sweetheart, look at me.” “I don’t know if I can.” “Don’t look at my wound,” he said, surprisingly gentle. “Look at me.” She heard Gabe set down the gun, and then she felt his hand on hers. “You can relax.” His hand felt warm as he guided her fingers toward the wound. “It’s not my time to die.” “You don’t know that.” “Yes. I do.” His voice became even softer. “I know it, the same way you know the time you’re going to die.” Holland’s eyes cracked open. “You talked to the Watch Man?” Gabe guided her hand to set down the antiseptic cloth. “It’s not my time tonight.” Holland
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