Rhys coughed. He could taste blood at the back of his throat. The smell of it was everywhere, hot and coppery. The crotch of his pants had gotten soaked with the stuff while Holly was gone.

"Don't worry, this has happened before." He tried to laugh, but it made his lacerated stomach hurt, so he stopped. His fingers were slick with crimson fluid.

"I should have gone for the head shot. People get killed in this city all the time. No one would have missed him."

His voice was growing faint as blood loss began to take its toll, and he pressed his hands more tightly to the wound so the pain would keep him conscious. He mustn't die, not right in front of her. He was not a failure or a weakling.

"Shannon. Tell...tell Shannon..."