Chapter 7: The Transfusion of Life
Marcus was dying. His pulse was thready, his skin clammy and gray. The bullet had torn through an artery, and help was too far away to make a difference.
"Marcus, stay with me!" Evelyn pleaded, applying pressure with her scarf, but the blood quickly soaked through.
Toby knelt beside the fallen man. His small hands hovered over Marcus's wound.
"No, Toby, wait," Evelyn said, remembering how drained the boy had looked after minor healings. "This is too much. You said it takes something from you."
"He protected us," Toby said simply, his voice trembling. "He can't die."
Toby pressed both palms firmly against the wound. A brilliant, blinding golden luminescence erupted from his hands, glowing so bright it cast long shadows against the alley walls. Marcus’s body arched as the shattered tissue knitted together and the bullet was slowly pushed out by regenerating muscle.
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When the light faded, Marcus took a sudden, deep gasp of fresh air, his vitals surging back to life. But Toby collapsed forward into the mud, his breathing dangerously faint, his dark hair streaked with a thin strand of pure white.
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