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Out of the corner of her vision, she sees a shadow pass by, quickly hidden again behind the tan and dusty wall. Calming her pants and wiping the blood off the wound on her forehead, Dena tilts her head, trying to peek over the edge of the wall. The brown boots she had decided to throw on that morning proved their worth; even caked with dirt, they gripped the floor, allowing her smooth and quiet steps.
She swallowed. She wasn’t stupid; she knew it could be one of those zombies, but hell if she was going to let it attack her before she could get to it first. With a long blink and a small affirmation that she was really probably going to be just fine, she moves her body against the corner of the wall and follows where the shadow went. The backpack she brought along shuffles against the texture of the wall, but Dena makes an effort not to lean too much on it, wanting to stay as quiet as possible. Looking around the hallway she found herself in, she notices the shattered windows, and blood streaked everywhere. It made her want to gag. It made her lick- she shook her head. Continuing down, Dena finds herself walking to the auditorium. She hadn’t been here in ages.
Thankfully, the door is open, allowing Dena a cautious glimpse into the space before deciding to step in. Her eyes move in a circle around the wide and familiar space. Giant red curtains grab her attention, adorning the large stage made of red oak that had a sticky stain that was consistently slathered on every year to cover up any marks. The seats are wooden, and Dena can suddenly feel her body ache just looking at them, getting flashbacks to sitting in them for hours on end on late nights after school. It’s messy, unfinished props littered over the floor, paint mixed with blood covers random surfaces, and the air tastes stale.
“Hey, Dede.”
Dena’s head snaps up, looking center stage. Her heart lodges in her throat. Standing on stage is not the shadow she thought she would’ve seen, but instead is a girl with curly red hair, wearing a white frilly dress and white heels, and she has the creepiest fucking smile on her face. Dena can’t breathe, and she hasn’t blinked in what seems like hours, only taking this teenage girl in, as the figure stays just as still.
Her black, beady eyes glimmer, “What? Something on my face?”
That’s right, because she does have something all over her face, crimson. There’s blood smeared all over her mouth, it’s in the cracks between her teeth, crusted between the wrinkles of her smile lines, and runs down to her chest. Dena can’t breathe.
“Nice to meet you, old friend.” The girl finally moves, walking all the way to the side of the suddenly all-too-short stage and down the stairs to stand on the same ground Dena’s dirt-packed boots stand on. When she takes the last step, she hops a little, like an excited kid. It knocks Dena’s senses back into place.
“What are you–”
“What? A girl can’t visit her old buddy?” Her eyes roam up and down Dena’s body, causing ice to lodge in her veins. “Oh, don’t be scared now. There’s not much you can do to me now, is there?” The white heels she has on are so clean, and that’s all Dena can focus on as the girl walks in meaningless patterns, circling Dena.
She hears her ears crack as she swallows down the dryness in her throat. “Grace–” her voice cuts off with a gasp as the girl suddenly stops walking. Her feet frozen in a half step, and even though Dena isn’t looking at her face, she can tell that those eyes, the ones that used to ooze honey at her but turned stone grey, are focused on her like prey. When she says nothing, Dena continues, “I’m…” she can feel it in her chest, she’s starting to heave, “I’m…” she can feel the all too familiar sting of liquid pulling from her body and pooling in her eyes as she slowly looks up Grace’s form to her face.
The girl scoffs. “You’re what? Can’t even say it after all these years Dede?” There’s a different look in her eye now. It’s mocking, it’s punishing, it’s… heartbreaking. Grace starts walking again. Her feet pick up in a small swing and march to the left, then turn and march right, and back. Dena once again follows her steps with her eyes; she always did follow Grace, old habits die hard.
“You-” Dena lets out a huff through her nose, strengthening her bones, “You’re dead.” Grace continues walking in her irritatingly perfect pattern, but turns her head lazily to the side, looking at Dena.
“Yeah, Dede.” Grace shrugs. “I am.”
*****
“I can’t believe you roped me into this mess, Gracie,” Dena complains, still actively doing her trusted job of painting the giant moon that’s going to be used as a background piece on stage. Grace managed to, somehow, convince Dena to take part in this play. It was something about a girl who goes on a journey to discover the world and finds love on the way. Grace got the part of the main character, because of course she did, and that’s how Dena found herself staying after school every afternoon to help paint this damn moon.
“Oh shut up, you know you love it,” Grace spits back, coming up behind Dena and settling her chin on the other’s shoulder, and looks at the white and grey splotches she put on the circular wood canvas. “Looks good,” she says, her breath moving the small black hairs hanging around Dena’s shoulder.
“Looks like a mess.” Dena’s mouth tilts, observing her own hazardous work.
“Looks like they’re dancing.”
“Who?”
“Them. There,” Grace points to a darker blot on the canvas, and traces an outline of two figures who look like they’re in a waltz. Her pale and brittle nails hover over the stale paint that’s still tacky but isn’t wet enough to latch onto her skin.
There’s a moment of silence between them as Dena scrutinizes the illusion. She never noticed an image before, certainly hadn’t done it with intention. But with Grace’s words pulsing through her brain, she can see one of the figures in a big ball gown, flowing through the air along with her long, straight hair as she turns the other figure around. The other figure faces Dena, and she’s a bit shorter than the first, and the bumpy paint texture gives her the image of curly hair and a ruffly dress. She imagines them with big smiles, laughing as they swing each other in the air. It’s a nice thought.
“Okay guys,” yells the theater teacher, “time to call it a night! Thanks for staying tonight as always, but go enjoy your weekend off. Party, or whatever the fuck kids do nowadays.” Dena plops the paint platter onto a table and wipes the excess color onto her dirty jeans.
Grace removes herself from her shoulder and asks, “Can you actually stay a little longer?”
Dena raises an eyebrow. “We’re gonna be locked in here.”
“I asked Ms. Keeling for the keys,” Grace smiles, waving the pair of keys in the air.
“Wow, she really doesn’t give a fuck does she?”
“Not unless it’s about the play,” shrugs Grace.
After putting away the paint, Dena looks to Grace and is led off the stage where they had been working. Some lights in the hallway were turned off, and the sun had long settled into the horizon, making the school darker than normal. Their footsteps clack against the vinyl tiles until they stop at what is the costume department. Grace opens the door, giving Dena a view of the room. It’s smaller than what she imagined based on what Grace had told her about it before. Yet it was filled with every shade of every color imaginable, and endless amounts of clothing hung on racks, but in the middle of the room stood only one sewing machine. In fact, it didn’t have very much machinery at all, which she guesses should’ve been expected for their high school. They weren’t poor, but they weren’t luxury either.
“What are we doing here?” Dena asks as she looks around.
“Sofie finished my dress today!” That’s right, Grace had been designing a dress for the character she was playing. She refused to let Dena get any clues about what it looked like, but she may have stolen a few glimpses at the rough outlines in the other’s journal when they studied. “Stay here, I wanna show you!”
Dena sits in the stool as instructed, as Grace goes behind a few racks of clothing, completely disappearing until she has only the sound of shuffling to prove she wasn’t alone. Her eyes continue making their trip around the room and land on the shoe rack. There’s a whole wall of them all lined up.
“Hey Gracie, you choose shoes yet for your outfit?” Dena speaks a bit louder than normal to reach the direction where Grace is.
“Not yet, wanna choose one for me?” she calls back.
“Sure.” She gets up from the stool and makes her way to the rack. The first shoes to catch her attention were a pair of black flats. They were heavily bedazzled though, which made Dena feel pity for Sofie, who probably had to do all of that herself. She looks at another pair of shoes, and it makes her chuckle at how ridiculous it looks. Its front went up in a swirl, and it had a thick heel supporting it. The poor person who had to suffer in those, must’ve been playing Willy Wonka.
Making her way a few steps down the shelves of shoes, something white catches her eye. In the back of her memories, the dress Grace had sketched was labeled to be white too. Dena makes her way to the pair of white heels, they’re embellished with white lace and pearls and have a silver buckle.
“Good choice.”
Dena jumps and turns around, then stills. Her eyes widen a fraction, and she feels her heart beat erratically in her ribcage. Grace’s shoulders are bare, but a piece of lace caresses them across her chest, and it leads down her torso where the boning inside the fabric cinches in her waist, and then she’s surrounded by a white, puffy skirt that reaches right above her ankles. Dena lets out a single long breath and shakily closes her mouth, bringing her eyes up to Grace’s form until she sees her eyes.
“What? Something on my face?” Grace flushes, her hands flying up to cover her cheeks.
“N-no!” Dena moves her hands in front of her, “You-... you look amazing, Gracie.” Grace slows, a smile growing on her face along with the blush that spreads from the outside of her face in.
“Sofie outdid herself, didn’t she?” she responds while spinning in a circle, showing the back of the dress. Dena couldn’t keep her eyes off her; she was glowing. The pearly white complemented Grace’s tan skin, and her red hair lay beautifully against the back of the dress. “Come on, I wanna see it on stage.”
Grace grabs Dena’s hand, pulling her back outside into the hallway, and she allows herself to follow without thought. Dena still couldn’t stop just… staring. They run down the hallway, accompanied by Grace’s laughter, until they enter through the stage door. Letting go of her hand, Grace stands in the middle of the stage and spreads her hands out against the bright light shining down. There’s nothing but her, wearing that dress, with that fierce hair, in those worn-out sneakers–
“I forgot the shoes.” Dena suddenly spits out.
“Huh?” Grace turns around, tilting her head at her. “Oh,” she says, suddenly remembering the heels. “That’s okay, we can save them for opening night! Come here,” she beckons Dena, “how do I look?”
Dena swallows and walks closer to the other girl. “You… look good,” she nods, hoping it’s a good enough answer.
Grace’s smile drops. “That’s it?” she asks.
“W-well, no, you look amazing! A-and I think the color really complements you, and Sofie did a great job. Plus, the details in the fabric are really pretty and I don’t know if you chose them but you did a good job then, because I know you planned the dress, and I would sneak peeks at your drawings even though you told me not to, but it’s your fault because you know me. But the final outcome still really surprised me because it’s so beautiful and you’re–you’re… beautiful.” Dena catches her breath.
Grace’s eyes are glimmering. The dark reflects the lights around her; it looks like there are stars in them. “You think so?”
Dena’s head feels heavy as she slowly nods, not trusting her mouth. She watches Grace’s smile widen to show her teeth even as her head lowers, and suddenly she feels a warmth in her left hand. Looking down, Dena finds it to be the other girl’s hand, and when she looks up, Grace is closer than she was before. Dena sucks in a breath.
“I think you’re beautiful too, Dede,” Grace whispers. It makes Dena’s knees want to shake. A hand brushes a strand of hair from the side of Dena’s face away and lingers around her jaw. She finds herself falling into it, deeper into the only person she’s ever wanted this close. She can feel Grace’s breath travel onto her lips, their noses brush, just briefly testing the tightrope they’re walking on, before diving down.
There’s a thud. Dena jumps apart from Grace, taking a much-needed breath of air, and looks behind the girl for the noise. Coming out from the side door of the auditorium is a figure stumbling inside.
“Ms. Keeling? Is that you? Are you okay?” Grace asks slowly, moving towards the wobbling shadow. It snaps its head up at them. “Hey–”
It moves at what seems like lightning speed, crawling up the side stairs of the stage and launching itself at the two girls. Dena grabs Grace’s hand, pulling her back from the creature, but not fast enough, as she feels the other girl’s hand ripped from hers when Grace is dragged to the ground and pounced on. Grace screams, it's a shrieking, high-pitched scream that makes Dena’s ears want to retract in on themselves in order to muffle it out. The thing, which Dena can now make out to truly be Ms. Keeling, is straddling Grace’s back, before she digs her mouth into Grace’s neck.
A noise leaves Dena’s throat as she gasps at the spray of blood that flies out of the wound, but it’s drowned out by Grace’s cries, which have somehow become even worse.
“...lp DENA! Hel… DENA!”
Dena can’t breathe; she can’t move. She can’t run away, she can’t help. And she’s looking at the gaping space of Grace’s neck for so long she doesn’t even notice the screaming has gone down before her knees give out and she falls. Ms. Keeling slowly brings her face out of Grace’s neck, it’s covered in the brightest red she’s ever seen, and disfigured with wounds, and now focused on Dena.
“R...run,” Dena’s eyes travel to Grace’s face in shock, there are tears streaming down her face, mixing with the blood that is everywhere. Grace is so still, and that soft whisper, that last effort of muscle that is probably mostly chewed up by now, is the last thing Dena heard before scrambling to her feet and running out the stage door.
*****
“How are you here?”
“Why are you?” raises Grace. “I’m guessing it has something to do with that,” she points down at Dena’s forearm. There’s a gash there, bloody, and torn apart from the mouth of the goddamn zombie she had encountered while on a food run. Dena takes a deep breath; it seems that she always needed one when Grace was near. “Was it at least someone interesting?” Grace sighs and stops her marching in favor of facing Dena. “It’s so boring here, all the people I know are brainless fucks or have wandered off to only God knows where.”
“Why haven’t you?”
“Where the fuck am I gonna go, Dede? My parents are probably dead, or one of said “brainless fucks”. Plus, not exactly a friendly world for my kind right now.”
“What?”
Grace rolls her eyes, “Where do you think you got that vaccine that's pumping in your blood from? It’s the only reason why you haven’t turned yet, you know?”
“I know,” Dena sighs, looking down at the bite in her arm.
“It’s not a cure, you know?”
“I know.”
“You’ll turn into one of us.”
“I know Gracie!”
Grace smirks. “You’ve grown.” That catches Dena off guard, and she gives the girl a skeptical look. “It has been 8 years, but wow,” Grace lingers on Dena’s face, making her look away at the ground, “You’re an adult.”
Dena closes her eyes and pulls the side of her bottom lip into her mouth, biting it. She wills the unfallen tears back, then asks, “Are you real?”
“Does it matter?”
Dena reluctantly opens her eyes and sees Grace’s smile. It’s soft, and even hidden under the grime and blood, it can’t help but make her want to sob. She’s sniffing and heaving, and her vision turns blurry. She pushes her wrists into her eyes, but it doesn’t stop everything that claws at the walls of her body to flow out.
“Help!” a voice shouts. Dena snaps out of her emotional episode, automatically searching for the voice. She rushes out the door and follows the calls.
“Hello?”
“Help! I’m stuck!”
Dena picks up her pace, ducking into classrooms and leaving each one after a quick glance until she stops at the sight of a girl stuck under a bookshelf.
“Hey,” she drops to her knees next to the girl, “Are you okay?”
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I know we’re not supposed to go anywhere that’s not safe, but my friends convinced me and–”
“You’re fine, honey.” Dena gently pats the girl’s head, calming her down and wiping her tears away. “I need to know if you’re hurt, okay?” She nods. Dena ducks under the shelf and looks for any open wounds on the girl’s body before coming back up. “I think you lucked out. Maybe some bruising or strain, but I think our biggest problem is this bookshelf. I’m gonna try and lift it off of you, okay? Use your arms to slide yourself out. Ready? Go!”
Dena grunts, straightening her legs from a squat and feeling the wood dig into her palms as she lifts the shelf as much as she can. There’s rustling under her, and she sees the girl slowly slide herself out. Dena’s body aches, and she can feel her right arm getting weaker as blood oozes out of the wound there, but she holds on and waits for the girl to be at a safe distance before dropping it in a loud crash.
They’re both panting, staring at the dust flying in the air, highlighted by the sun peeking through the windows.
“You good?” Dena asks after catching her breath, turning to check in on the girl. But just as she does, the girl drops her head to the floor, fainting. “Hey! Hey!” Dena runs to her and holds her upper half, trying to shake the girl awake. “Shit,”
“She might be dead,” spinning her head at the sound, Dena finds Grace leaning on the side of the door with her arms crossed, looking down at the girl in her arms.
“Shut up.” Grace raises her hands in a surrendering gesture and pouts, which makes Dena roll her eyes before checking the girl’s pulse. She lets out a sigh of relief when she feels the thump against her fingers, and then huddles the girl in her arms before lifting her.
“Where’re you going?” Dena doesn’t answer her; instead, focused on finding her way back to the auditorium and gently laying the girl’s body down on the stage, and opening her backpack in search of medical supplies. She doesn’t really see any wounds that weren’t surface-level on the girl, but bandaging her head after she banged it on the ground probably wouldn’t hurt.
“Look at you, Ms. Nurse,” Grace sits on the edge of the stage, dangling her feet off the side and looking at Dena, fixing the bandages. “Or maybe, I should say Mrs. Nurse?” Dena’s hand stills, and her eyes slowly fall onto the dainty ring that rests on her ring finger. It’s a small one they had found randomly while searching for resources. “So, you gonna tell me about who they are?”
Dena deflates, letting a harsh breath out her nose, and pops onto the edge of the stage too, between the unconscious girl and Grace. “His name’s Brenden,” Dena gives in with a swallow.
“A him. Must’ve really impressed you.”
Dena scoffs, something in her chest lightens up at the gentle jab. “He did. Still does.” Grace hums at that.
“How’d you meet him?”
“He found me. I was alone for a while, barely surviving and barely living. And then he found me, and took care of me even though I threw a tantrum every moment I could,” Dena finds herself softly smiling at the memories. “I sort of… hated him at first. I mean, he was a kid my age, and yet he seemed to have figured out this new life better than I thought was even possible. But he grew on me, and worked his way inside this dried heart of mine. Showed me how to live in this… world that was left out to die. And then allowed me to make a life too.” Dena turns to Grace and studies her face. She’s not smiling, she’s not frowning. She looks like she’s deep in thought, it makes Dena nervous.
“You have a kid.” It’s a question, and it’s not.
“I do. His name is Gabe.”
“Gabe…” Grace’s voice is soft. She’s still staring in front of her, lost in her mind, her shoulders sagging, and her head leaning to the side as if needing to rest it on her shoulder.
“He’s three right now. Should be watched by the people in the little village we managed to find and become friends with.” Dena can feel her heart beating faster the longer she stares at Grace, but she can’t help it. It goes on for a moment, silence and thinking, and staring.
“Gracie, I’m—“
“I’m happy for you,” Grace suddenly speaks, “and I hate you.” There’s something in her expression Dena can’t explain, so she swallows back her emotions and gives Grace room to speak. “I hated that you left. And I relive the moment you ran away from me every day. I hate that I don’t get anything, but this fucked up “after-life” where I watch you move on,” her voice cracks. And Dena sees tears in the eyes of her 17-year-old friend, but she looks much older, more pained and damaged, because she is. “You get a husband, and a child, and a village. And I’m… so alone,” Grace finally turns towards her, as a tear breaks loose from the galaxies of her eyes. “I’ve only ever had you, Dena. And I don’t even get to have you. How’s that fair?”
In the silence of the room they last saw each other alive, the same room they had almost given their hearts to each other, they feel it break.
“I’m sorry Gracie,” Dena croaks out through her tears.
“I’m so sorry. I-I shouldn’t have run away, I should’ve dragged you away from that creature.” She’s sniffing and shaking from the way her body pumps out everything she’s held in since the last time she saw Grace. “I’ve thought of you every day, and I’m wrecked with guilt all the time.” One of Dena’s hands runs through her hair, pulling it at the scalp. “I’m so sorry, I-I’m so sorry.” She sobs.
And suddenly Dena knows what she saw in Grace’s eyes earlier: grief. Grief of a life Grace never got to have, a love she never got to give, time she ran out of. Dena never let herself grieve, not truly. Hadn’t let herself think about her deepest desires and innermost regret. Dena didn’t regret her husband and her child; she didn’t regret the life she managed to reconstruct from the very bottom up. But she regrets the power of her fear every day. The fear that she will never be enough to protect her family, that everything will be gone in the blink of an eye, because it has all happened before, when she was powerless.
“I know you are,” Grace’s soft voice whispers, as her cold and pale hands weave into Dena’s hair, defangling her fingers from her scalp.
“I heard you screaming,” Dena mutters through her weeps, “I heard you… yelling for me to help, and I didn’t come.” Her body felt heavy.
“You were a kid.”
“I WAS WEAK!” screams Dena. “And I let you die in front of me.” A moment of silence settles between them, only broken by Dena’s sobs.
“It wasn’t your fault.”
“It was—“
“It wasn’t. I said I hated you, and this life, but I never blamed you.” Dena looks up at her. “If anything, I blame that bitch Ms. Keeling for not controlling herself. You know I saw her a while ago, and she still has no chill on that big ass appetite of hers.” Dena’s eyes widen, and a startled laugh chokes out of her, making Grace pleased. “I mean it Dede,” there’s a tender curve to Grace’s lips, “I don’t blame you. I’m the one who told you to run. I didn’t want you to die with me. I wouldn’t change it.” Dena can breathe again; she doesn’t know the last time she did this fully.
Suddenly, a cough overtakes Dena’s body. She’s hacking and folding in on herself as she covers her mouth. Her throat feels like nails are being dragged along the inside, and her heart can’t complete a full sequence before being squeezed. When the episode finally subsides, Dena pulls her hand away from her mouth to find scarlet coating her palm.
“Fuck,” she sighs, staring at the blood. Grace’s eyes bore into her, and Dena raises her head to look back at her. The other girl’s face is blank, just still.
“Are you okay?” she asks.
“No. I’m turning into a damn zombie,” Dena exhales a heavy breath, dropping her head to her chest.
“How long have you been fighting it?”
“Couple of hours.”
“Lasted longer than me.” Dena’s expression drops as she stares at Grace. The girl concedes and backs off despite the smile on her face.
“Did you call him?”
“Yeah.”
“You’re waiting then.”
“Yeah.”
Silence.
“Am I selfish for wanting you?”
Dena turns to Grace, then replies, “Am I selfish for feeling relieved?”
“No.”
“Then no.”
There’s a rustle on the other side of Dena, making her twist around to look at the girl she has forgotten about. Her eyes aren’t open, she’s not awake, she’s barely even moved, but Dena’s focused on her. She traces the crown of the girl’s head, around and around the bandages, sliding across the small cuts of her face, and down to her soft jawline. She swallows at the sight of her neck.
“De–”
Dena ignores the voice, tilting her head to the left, lingering on the middle of the girl’s neck. It has to be the best part—I mean, she’s seen it devoured before—somewhere, everywhere. Her mouth parts, and she’s breathing in the scent of something delicious, wanting, needing to chase it. Her hands push off the ground, lifting her body up–
The main door to the auditorium flies open. Dena turns to look.
“Brenden…” His eyes meet hers, wild and searching.
“Dena,” he rushes over and crushes her in a hug, wrapping his arms around her, letting her face rest in his chest. Against her nose, she can feel his heartbeat; it’s steady, incredibly so. It must be strong and pulsing with life. He cradles her face. “Are you okay?” his eyes run over her face, checking for wounds, stepping back and going over her body, before stopping at her arm and stilling. “Dena…” he whispers, eyes wide in shock and filling with wetness.
“Hey, Brenden,” she smiles gently at him.
“No…” he desperately lets out.
“I’m sorry.”
“No. No! We–we can do something. We’ll get another dose of the vaccine. I can take you to the research center. They’ll– they’ll do something.” Dena realizes he’s sobbing,
“I’m sorry.”
“Baby…” he’s weeping, tears dropping down onto her.
“Thank you for everything.” She nuzzles her nose into the crook between his jaw and ear. Her fingers fist into his shirt on his back. Brenden shakes, groaning in his pain, and leans into her, holding her the tightest he ever has, the tightest he ever will. “Thank you.” He rubs his head against her hair, denying the inevitable. Like she’s not going to turn into the flesh-eating monsters they’ve had to fight every day for the last eight years, like she couldn’t kill him any second with a lunge to the neck. It makes Dena want to cry, so she does. It’s not a loud wail or howl to combat against her fate, but she can feel how much it hurts deep inside her. Their anguish washes together and trails down her cheeks.
Her brain stutters with all the emotion. Flashes of thrilling nights in abandoned parks, late-night talks under the stars, and the pain of birth race through Dena’s brain. Her throat sucks in as it’s intruded with images of blood, flesh, and violence. She rattles in his arms.
“You need to do it now.”
“No, please…” Brenden begs into her hair.
“We promised,” Dena trails her hand to the waistband of his pants until she reaches the familiar clunk of metal. She takes it out and releases a wobbly exhale before pulling the top of the weapon. Dena takes one of Brenden’s hands, unfolds his fingers, and sets the gun in his palm. He closes his hand hard around the handle, still crying.
“I love you. Thank you for making life worth living.” Dena says, looking him in the eyes. He’s breaking, and he steps back slowly. She watches the motion of his arm lifting up, straight and strong, pointing the gun at her. “Take care of Gabe for me.”
“I will.” Brenden closes his eyes, unwilling to watch what he is about to do.
Dena hears the clicking of footsteps behind her and turns her head to pristine white, lacy, and pearly heels. She looks up to find Grace, who is no longer bloody and messy, but bright, angelic, and beautiful. She comes up to Dena and sits next to her, putting her chin on her shoulder, and looks up at her. Dena stares right back.
“I love you. Sorry, I didn’t say it earlier. You make dying worth it,” she whispers.
Grace smiles; it’s barely held up, so tender. “I love you.”
The gun goes off.