“Balfour, are you hanging in there? Does it hurt a lot?”
Victoria had silently made up her mind that once they were both safely out of this mess, she was going to stick with the boy who had protected her, no matter what it took.
“Cough, cough—” Balfour spat a mouthful of blood and collapsed face down on the ground, motionless.
It felt like every muscle refused to obey him, and there was this dull ache in his chest – probably a couple of broken ribs.
“How are you feeling? Can you get up, or do you need my help?”
Balfour seemed even weaker than she did. Victoria knew it was up to her to take charge.
With a pale, pained smile, Balfour said, “Your wrists are bound just like mine. What can you possibly do to help? Let's just... let me rest a bit.”
Even though he didn't say it, Victoria could see he was fading fast. His skin was turning ghostly white, and his lips had lost all their color. The guy who hit him had been ruthlessly thorough.
“I told you, we should've just waited for our families to come save us, but no, you wanted to make a run for it. Look where that got us. Maybe if we'd stayed put, that guy wouldn't have flown off the handle like he did.”
Victoria was a mix of heartache and regret.
She knew Balfour had his pride; he hated feeling threatened. If it hadn't been for her, he might have had a chance to fight back. But now, with her there, it was like he was carrying an extra weight.
“Just wait,” Balfour said weakly before closing his eyes.
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