Jackson. He’d managed to bring Ellery down as he’d fallen, throwing him back against the far wall of the hallway before his trajectory changed. Ellery was spattered in blood. “Jackson?” he asked, suddenly afraid. He’d seen Luanne Chisholm. For real. Touching distance away. He didn’t want to touch Jackson’s body if it had been destroyed by violence. He didn’t want to think about the human who had lain next to him the night before, spilling secrets, laughing with surprising shyness, becoming more important to Ellery with every breath. So certain Ellery would leave. “Jackson?” he said again, pulling himself up and leaning over the still form. Jackson’s shoulder and the meat of his arm were a mess—blood and flesh and bone and Ellery couldn’t look at it. But then the owner of that mess moaned, and Ellery raised a shaky hand to the hair that covered Jackson’s eyes. “I’ve been shot,” Jackson slurred. “Motherfucker.” “Jackson!” Jade shrilled from across the kitchen.
