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She can feel her clock running down. The wind flies by her, tugging at her clothes and her hair. The pain in her gut is an afterthought, her blood is a cold spot on her shirt.
The moon is bright overhead.
Maybe this is how Angel feels-the seconds lasting years to make up for the life neither one will get to live after this night.
Damn, B. I wish this could have ended different. But she's not sure if the regret is for losing the fight or their falling out.
Her time runs out. Faith hits the truck.