Marissa took a deep breath. Retelling things was every inch as painful as living it had been and as the words to what happened moved from her lips she wasn't just on the phone; she was living it again, first in the Narrows going toe-to-toe with the Artist then finally pulling Mia's still-warm lifeless body from the harbor. She felt the chill of it cut into her bones anew.
Nothing was colder than blood.
"It's my fault," she repeated, her voice still ragged and her heart still raw.
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