It was not the physical pain that hurt, it was the thought that he had failed. Failed to keep the innocent child safe, only nine years in the world and already he was facing his last journey. The bullet that lodged deep in Colby Linden's shoulder was seeping dark blood across his crisp white shirt. It was a stain that he would carry for many years, marking him as a failure, culpable, untrustworthy. He could never bring himself to offer any excuse for what had happened. He should have foreseen the assassin standing in the doorway, it was his job to anticipate these things. He should have been aware of the danger lurking in the black shadows of the starkly bright north African sunlight.
|The Midnight Falcon by Graham Saunders|