𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐜𝐞 | ✓

𝐗𝐗𝐗𝐕 - 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐘𝐨𝐮

(edited)

The first thing I saw when my eyes fluttered open was that same cold, sterile ceiling. A sea of white panels, blurred at the edges by the film of pain and medication, stared back at me like a cruel déjà vu. It was almost like the ceiling I had woken up to weeks ago... After the last disaster. Now, here it was again, greeting me with its indifferent stillness.

A frustrated groan escaped my lips, dry and raspy, barely more than a breath. I tried to lift myself, to fight against the heaviness pinning me down, but something tugged sharply at the inside of my elbow. I looked down and caught the gleam of an IV line embedded into the crook of my arm. An oxygen mask covered half my face, cool plastic pressing against the bridge of my nose, forcing sharp, metallic-tasting air into my lungs.

Everything burned. My chest, my throat, my head... Α dull, throbbing ache that pulsed in rhythm with my heartbeat. I reached a trembling hand up to touch my temple, but the second my muscles shifted, pain exploded through my body, rippling like shrapnel through every nerve. My vision swam, and I let my hand drop like dead weight.

And then the memories came back in a rush. A violent, unstoppable torrent.

Waking up.

Dinner.

Laughter.

The bomb.

Vince. Myles.

Wait...

"Vince!" I cried out, though the word was hoarse and broken. My head lolled to the side, disoriented and dizzy, vision flickering like a dying lightbulb.

A voice answered. Warm. Familiar. Like a balm over my fraying nerves.

"Yeah, cuginetta?" (Baby cousin?)

Vince.

His voice cut through the fog in my brain, and for a moment, I felt like I could breathe again. I blinked until his face came into view, blurry around the edges but unmistakable.

"Thank God you're okay..." I whispered. My words barely formed, carried away by the weakness that clung to every part of me. It hurt to speak, my lungs screamed in protest, but relief washed over me in calming waves. The doctors had warned this would happen. Smoke inhalation, drug-induced lethargy, disorientation. I was living in it.

"How do you feel, Neffie?" Vince murmured gently, rubbing sleep from his eyes with the back of his hand. I must have woken him. His hair was a mess, his face pale, but his voice was steady and reassuring.

I blinked again. Wait... something wasn't right.

"Why... why are we in the same room?" I rasped. "You were supposed to be in orthopedics. I was in pulmonology."

He chuckled soft, almost teasing. "While you were out cold, Noah decided we'd be moved. Said the transfer would be safer. So, here we are, the luxury suite in the company's medical ward."

Classic Vince. Laughing at my confusion like it was the highlight of his day.

I groaned. "Did I say that out loud?"

"Loud enough to make me chuckle" he said with a grin. "Glad you are okay!"

I sank deeper into the pillow, exhaustion anchoring me to the mattress. My thoughts drifted. Yesterday felt like a blur painted with blood and fire. There was too much. Too fast. I needed time, and those damn self-defense lessons Noah kept talking about!

The door creaked open then, and I turned my head slowly.

Chris walked in like a ghost, his eyes sunken and ringed with dark shadows. His hand trembled as he lifted a paper cup of coffee to his lips. He looked... wrecked. Pale. Wrung out.