Georgia's POV:
I wear ugly shoes to work every day just so I can give chase to criminal thugs for a living. I'm running at top speed and yet I'm still losing them.
My arm is definitely broken.
It's burning violently, practically screaming at me, but I won't cry. I won't scream. I won't because right now I need to catch up with Trent.
Crumbs, that boy can run, I think to myself as I struggle to breathe.
Eventually, I have to stop. I'm completely winded. I can't go on any further. Trent is still in my line of sight.
I want to start running again but my body says no.
I can no longer see the suspect and I have no idea in which direction he went. I bend so that my head is between my knees and try once more to breathe.
I jump when I feel a hand on my arm.
"Sh*t!" I cry out.
The pain is excruciating.
"You're hurt?" he asks.
Trent is so confusing. He doesn't sound concerned; he sounds downright angry.
"I think my arm is broken."
"F*ck sake."