Skylar's POV:
Feeling trails of my own sweat slide down the side of my forehead, my eyes began playing tricks on me for the hundredth time this week as I saw the face of my dead brother appear in front of me.
Gasping in shock, I backed away and blinked before realizing that Travis wasn't in front of me. It was just the punching bag. The old, red punching bag that I've been messing around with for the past couple hours.
The soles of my feet were sore and my knuckles were most definitely bruised by now. Looking down at my hands that I just unclenched, I took in the uneven redness of them before letting them drop to my sides.
It's been a week - one whole week ever since the mission in New York was completed.
To say the least, it damaged me.
There hasn't been a day
