“No.” Kael’s voice was gravel and fever. “I just chose.”

They dragged Kael by the zip-ties. The plastic cut deeper, but Kael didn’t feel that either.

“You’re dead,” Lobo whispered.

Zip.

The .22 had grazed his skull—plowed a furrow above his left ear, knocked him cold, stopped just short of his brain. Enough blood to fool anyone. Not enough to finish the job.