Page 78 of Code Name: Grit

“So everyone survived,” I murmured.

“Not everyone,” Tank said grimly. “Rafael lost three men in the explosion. Two of Cassio’s guards were wounded but survived.”

“And Keller?” I asked.

Tank’s expression darkened. “That’s complicated.”

Before he could elaborate, the door opened again. Dante entered, followed by a doctor in a white coat.

“Look who’s finally decided to wake up,” Dante said, moving to Lumi’s side and placing a hand on her shoulder. The simple gesture spoke volumes about their strengthened bond.

The doctor checked my vitals, examined the wound, and adjusted my medication. “The surgery was successful,” she explained. “But you need to remain here at least another twenty-four to forty-eight hours for observation. No strenuous activity for six weeks. Physical therapy starts as soon as you’re discharged.”

“How soon can I return to fieldwork?” I asked.

She shot me a glare. “You guys are all the same. How soon can you get yourself back in danger,” she muttered. “We’ll assess that after six weeks.”

When she left, I shifted my attention back to Tank. “You were saying something about Keller?”

Tank and Dante exchanged glances. “There’s a lot we’re still figuring out,” said Dante. “It’s better to wait until we’re back at headquarters and have the full picture.”

“Is he a threat?” I pressed.

“Not in the way we thought,” Tank replied cryptically. “But that conversation should wait until you’re stronger.”

I wanted to argue but could feel my energy waning. The pain medication was making it difficult to stay focused.

“You need rest,” Lumi said, noting my struggle. “We’ll be here when you wake up.”

“Promise?” I asked, hating how vulnerable I sounded.

She leaned forward, brushing her lips against my forehead. “I’m not going anywhere.”

I drifted off with her hand still in mine.

The next forty-eighthours passed in a blur of medical checks, brief periods of consciousness, and gradually diminishing pain. Lumi remained a constant presence, leaving only when forced to by the medical staff. Tank, Dragon, and Dante continued rotating their visits and interacting with the security detail outside my door.

By the morning of the third day, the doctor declared me stable enough for discharge, though with strict limitations on movement and activity.

“The wound is healing well,” she explained during her final examination. “But the muscle damage was significant. You’ll need to follow the physical therapy regimen exactly as prescribed.”

I nodded, eager to leave despite the pain that still accompanied each movement. Being confined to a hospital bed made me feel vulnerable in ways I hated.

As Lumi helped me dress—a slow, awkward process, given my immobilized left arm—I caught her studying me.

“What?” I asked.

She shook her head. “Nothing. Just…” She paused, her hands stilling on the buttons of my shirt. “I keep thinking about how close it was. If that bullet had been a few inches to the right…”

I covered her hand with mine. “But it wasn’t.”

“This time,” she whispered.

I lifted her chin so she’d meet my eyes. “This is the life. You know that.”

“Knowing it intellectually is different from watching someone you—” She stopped abruptly.

“Someone you what?” I prompted gently.