We had twenty-eight hours left by the time I got back home.
That was the number that pulsed at the back of my skull as I stood in the shower, water pounding down on scarred shoulders, the steam ghosting off the tiles in thin, curling trails. The water was hot enough to burn, but I needed it. I felt like the blood of the pale man wasn't leaving my hands. I needed the band around my wrist more than I thought.
Either way, it was twenty-eight hours until the clock hit zero. Until the families died. Until Hyena either got what he wanted, or we stopped him.
I turned off the water, the pipes groaning like old bones, and stepped out, letting the steam roll out into the hallway like a phantom. My mask hung on the doorknob, the cracked mirror above the sink showing a man I barely recognized.
Tired eyes. Jaw shadowed with stubble I hadn't bothered to shave. Very small scars from every fight and incident I've had peeking through under damp hair. My reflection looked back at me, as if asking:
