In the middle of the night, in a land where a thin layer of snow had begun drifting down from the sky, settling over ground still carpeted in dried autumn leaves, a man could be seen staggering forward, one hand pressed against his bleeding shoulder, a trail of blood marking the path behind him.
When he reached a large tree, he stopped and slowly lowered himself to the ground, sitting with his back against the trunk, his shoulders trembling, though not from the cold. A wrecked sob tore loose from his throat, and he slammed his fist into the earth beside him.
"You fucking made me kill you. Why won't you leave my head?!" Nick groaned, caught somewhere between irritation and pain, though the pain wasn't for the woman he'd killed, it was for the friend her death had cost him.
