"We can't stay here," repeated Bryce for what must have been the fifth time. He couldn't be certain if she had heard, either the first time or the last, but the urgency in his voice was not one that could be ignored. (He had, until now, been almost certain that Sarah had at least taken a life before, but the way she stared down at her hands was proof enough that this assessment had been way off base. This was her first. This was her worst.) "Sarah," he called again, comforted only in the familiar feeling of cold metal in his palm, of his finger over a trigger. If the need arose, he could protect them both, but nothing said that they had to let it get to that. And mindful though he was to Sarah's pain — everyone suffered from their first kill, there was no way around it — he wasn't about to let her die as a result.