“We both know I won’t. Just promise you’ll take care of Sloane,” he begs, his eyes searching mine as his breaths grow ragged. “Promise.” “I promise,” I whisper, taking his hand and squeezing, not bothering to wipe my tears. “I’ll take care of Sloane.” He’s dying and there’s nothing I can do. Nothing anyone can do. How can all this power be so fucking useless?
