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Summary
“It’s okay,” Naim said. There was still blood seeping from his mouth.
“No.” Ryan shook his head. He didn’t know where to touch Naim, didn’t know if he trusted himself to. Carefully he reached for his wrist, the closest thing, and pulled his hand from where it clenched white around the railing. “No, fuck. Come here—”
Ryan could see the ragged skin of the gash beneath Naim’s chin, the blood still dripping freely onto his collarbones. A deep wine-purple was blooming at his brow. And Ryan had done this, the real Ryan.
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In a moment of panic, Ryan mistakes Naim for the Entity.