Page 61 of The Last Morgan

Corey was shouting something about stitches. About needing to get her cleaned up.

"This isn’t the first time I’ve been stabbed," she slurred as she looked in Coreys direction, implying that he was the one to do it.

Byron glared at Corey over her head.

"You stabbed her?" he snapped, voice low and lethal.

Corey, unimpressed, rolled his eyes as they reached the top of the stairs.

"During training," Corey muttered. "Get over it."

Byron clearly didn’t like that answer, but he said nothing.

He hovered as Corey laid Lucy down gently on her bed.

Corey’s fingers were already working fast, ripping open his med kit,

checking the wound, cursing under his breath.

“Good news, No major organs hit. No artery slashed. Bad news: It’s still going to hurt like a bitch.”

Lucy gave a faint thumbs-up.

"But I am going to have to stitch you up," Corey added. "And you’re going to take a nap while I do it. Doctor's orders."

Lucy groaned softly.

"You’re not a doctor dumbass" she mumbled.

"Close enough," Corey said cheerfully, pulling out a syringe.

She rolled her eyes, too tired to argue.

One more thing she needed to make crystal clear before she drifted off:

"Don’t… talk to her," Lucy muttered thickly,

"without me."

Corey squeezed her hand firmly. "Got it, kiddo."

Lucy let herself slide into sleep, Byron’s intense gaze the last thing she saw before the world turned black.

Chapter 20

Sleep pulled Lucy under like a tide. She barely fought it — too weak and too drained. At first, the dreams were soft.

The house smelled of cinnamon and lavender again.

The sun streamed golden through the tall windows.

Her mother’s voice floated from the kitchen, humming a lullaby.

Little Lucy ran barefoot down the wide wooden halls, her laughter filling the air.

She turned a corner — there was her father, crouching low with a mischievous grin, arms wide open.

"There’s my little warrior," he said.