POV: DANTE
DAY 1
The pain was a living thing.
It had texture and temperature and weight. It sat on his chest like a predator, breathing into his face, reminding him with every breath that he was wounded.
Dante lay on the surgical table in the safe house's medical room, his leg immobilized in a compression cast, his ribs wrapped so tight he could barely breathe. The IV in his arm delivered a steady stream of medications...painkillers, antibiotics, anti-inflammatories. The combination created a strange cocktail of numbness and heightened awareness, like his body was underwater but his mind was screaming.
"How are you feeling?" Luca asked from somewhere beyond the fog.
Dante wanted to laugh. Wanted to scream. Wanted to burn down the entire building and everyone in it because the answer was: like absolute hell.
Instead, he said nothing.
