Corazón

⁰¹⁷ : 𝙸𝚗 𝚆𝚑𝚒𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝙻𝚎𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚜

I am but known to those I do decree,
For others, like a shadow, I depart.
In memory's grasp I fade, a fleeting sea,
Till once again, I summon you to heart.

...

☘ xᴀʏᴅᴇɴ ʀᴏᴍᴀɴᴏ ☘

A dull ache thrums at the back of my neck, and the persistent beeping somewhere nearby gnaws at my patience. My eyes snap open as consciousness floods in, dragging me from the depths of an indistinct haze. For a moment, my vision blurs, but soon the familiar outlines of my room solidify, and confusion knots itself into my thoughts.

How the hell did I end up here? The last thing I recall was discussing the project with Dad, meticulously going over every detail before I took on my first major assignment. Everything was in order, but now... this.

My nape burns with an agonizing tenderness, as though something-or someone-struck me with force. I try turning my head, only for a sharp pang to lock my muscles in place, wincing as the pain roots me to the spot. It feels like there's a missing piece, something vital I can't grasp, lingering just out of reach in the recesses of my mind.

A voice, calm and detached, cuts through the fog of my thoughts. "Good, you're awake."

I blink, refocusing on the figure looming beside the bed. A doctor, his pristine white coat unwrinkled and professional, stands holding a clipboard. His face is a mask of cool detachment, eyes flicking between me and the papers in his hand with the kind of efficiency that borders on clinical apathy. "You took quite a hit," he comments, his words blunt, though there's a faint undercurrent of relief buried beneath the professional tone. "It's fortunate you woke up when you did. You'll need more rest, but a full recovery should be expected."

His gaze drifts momentarily to the side, where someone else lingers in the periphery of my vision. Filza Sabir, my newly appointed secretary, stands with her arms folded across her chest, her posture rigid, though her expression betrays nothing but a carefully composed neutrality.

But something about her stance gives away an unspoken tension-perhaps concern, or something darker, lurking just beneath the surface.

"Mr. Romano," she murmurs, her voice silk-smooth yet laced with an edge of something restrained. She inclines her head slightly, her gaze never wavering. "You gave us all quite the fright."

Her words settle in the air, carrying a weight that I can't quite decipher. I attempt to sit up, to make sense of the swirling fragments of memory, but the movement sends a searing wave of pain through my skull, forcing me back into the softness of the pillows with a muffled groan.

"What... happened?" I rasp, my voice raw and barely audible, as though the very act of speaking had drained whatever energy remained in me. I search for clarity, but my mind offers nothing but fragmented shards, elusive and incomprehensible.

The doctor and Filza exchange a glance, one laden with meaning I'm too exhausted to read. Filza steps forward, her voice softer now, though no less tense. "You were attacked," she says, her tone steady, as if rehearsed. "Afterwards, you were brought here. The situation is... under control for now, but there's still much to go over."

Her words hang like a storm cloud, heavy with implication. But my mind, clouded by confusion and pain, struggles to hold onto them. It feels like she's speaking another language altogether, one I can't yet interpret. Yet the throbbing in my neck serves as a harsh reminder that whatever happened wasn't merely a figment of my imagination.