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It was an easy choice.
It would hurt, he knew it would hurt. Seeing Nicolò in pain? Seeing Nicolò die? That would always hurt. One more death to weigh against his soul. Even though it was not by his hand, it was by his actions. And Nicolò’s deaths always weighed the heaviest against him.
But it had been Nicky or Andy and one would return to him. So it was an easy choice.
Joe moved. The bullets tore into his hip and knee and he hissed at the pain. Nicky was down before he could turn around. The sob caught in his throat.
Headshots felt different now, after Merrick. He knew it would hurt but this burned.
There was no time to stop. There was not a moment to rest, not now. There were more bullets to take. There were more men to cut down. More. More. More.
Time was a strange thing to an immortal. Whole centuries blurred together. But some hours felt like eternities. Their first kiss had stopped time. The moments when they were together, just the two of them, were endless. Yusuf al-Kaysani and Nicolò di Genova stood outside of time.
As he waited, those moments (hours, days, eternity) drew out before him. The careful construction of his reality was unravelling. Andromache was mortal now. Booker had betrayed them. Nicky was… Nicky was...
Nicolò, destati.
Nile was speaking, shouting, but he couldn’t hear her. There was only the pounding of his heart in his ears. He still lived. His heart still beat. Nicky would wake. Nicky would breathe. Nicky was the other half of his heart and his heart still beat.
A touch, soft on his shoulder. Joe flinched. Andy was there. She said nothing. She didn’t need to. Centuries together and he could read her. It was taking too long. They couldn’t stay.
Yusuf al-Kaysani and Nicolò di Genova stood outside of time. They would always have more.
Until they didn’t.