Hajin opened his eyes beneath Vella's hand while her palm coaxed another breath through ribs that fought every single inch. Her light steadied the rise beneath his chest, but the ruined right arm lay silent and useless against his side.
'Okay, little finger, just twitch for me once, I'm begging you, you lazy bastard.'
He pushed at its smallest finger and felt nothing but the gritty pressure of paving underneath it.
Vella eased his shoulder up and turned him against a slab, freezing when pain made him snatch her sleeve.
"Sorry, sorry, shit, keep going," he wheezed, letting go one finger at a time.
She waited out another breath before tilting him far enough to let the blood drain from his mouth.
Across the avenue, a medic ducked away from the wagon with dressings clutched against his chest.
