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“Alex,” he croaks, his fingers suddenly gripping mine with surprising strength. “He?—”

“Shh,” I soothe, though my heart hammers painfully against my ribs. “Don't try to talk.”

“No,” Talon struggles, his voice strengthening with urgency. “You need to know.” He attempts to sit up, wincing as pain shoots through his injured shoulder. The monitors beside him beep more rapidly in response.

“Please, Talon. You need to rest.”

“He saved me, Vesper.” The words tumble out, each one a blade slicing deeper into my heart. “They had us surrounded. The boat was dead in the water. He—” his voice cracks, “—he pushed me overboard.”

I can't breathe. The sterile hospital air turns thick, unbreathable as Talon's words paint a vivid, terrible pictures in my mind.

“He rammed our boat into theirs,” Talon continues. “Explosion. So much fire...” His fingers tighten around minewith surprising strength. “He knew what he was doing, Vesper. He chose to?—”

“Stop,” I plea. “Please stop.”

But Talon's grip only tightens. “He said to tell you he kept his promise.” His voice cracks on the last word. “He made sure I came back to you.”

As the words spill from his lips, my world shatters around me.

The promise I had begged him not to make come true. Alexisgone.

LUCA

Nightmares don't endwhen you wake up. Not in this place. Not for me.

The haze of drugs is lifting slowly, the familiar cottonmouth and dull headache my only companions as consciousness returns. My muscles feel like lead weights beneath the thin sheet covering my body. I've grown accustomed to this routine—the injections, the foggy aftermath, the gradual return to a reality that's arguably worse than the drug-induced oblivion.

I blink at the ceiling, pristine white like everything else in this sterile hell. My cell. My prison. Four walls, a bed bolted to the floor, a toilet without privacy, and a constant rotation of armed guards. Home sweet fucking home.

A sound shatters the silence. The mechanical whir of the door next to mine sliding open. My senses sharpen instantly, years of Rossi training kicking in despite the chemical fog still clinging to my brain. I hold still, controlling my breathing as I listen.

A thud. Heavy, like deadweight hitting the floor.

There are voices outside—two guards, maybe three. Their words are indistinct through the walls, but their tone is casual, bored even. Just another day at work for them. Just another body to process.

“...check on Rossi while we're here?” one asks, voice clearer now.

“Nah, he's still under. Doc said the new dosage would keep him out till morning.”

Footsteps retreat down the corridor, followed by the heavy clank of the security door. Silence returns, but something has shifted in the air. A tension that wasn't there before.

The new arrival in the next cell. Another captive for The Collector's twisted menagerie.

I strain my ears, listening for any sign of life from the other side of the wall. Nothing at first, then, a soft moan. The sound twists something in my chest, a feeling I thought they'd drugged out of me months ago. Empathy.

“Hey,” I press my lips close to the vent in the wall by my bed. “Can you hear me?”

Silence answers. I wait, counting my heartbeats, wondering if the drugs have finally cracked my mind completely. Then, another moan, louder this time followed by a rustling sound, like someone struggling to move.

“Easy. The drugs take a while to wear off. Don't fight it.”

I've become an expert on their chemical cocktails, learned to endure the surges rather than fight them. Survival lessons no one should ever have to master.

“Where?” A hoarse voice rasps from the other side.

I press my ear closer, desperate for human contact that isn't a guard or one of the technicians who treat me like a lab specimen.

“Where...where am I?”