I try to reach for her, but my body won’t cooperate. Everything’s so heavy. So hot.
The fever brings dreams. Or maybe they’re not dreams. Maybe they’re real, and I just can’t tell anymore. Dashamir’s pale eyes staring at me. That cold, emotionless face. But it’s not me in the chair anymore. It’s Adora.
She’s tied up, bleeding, and Dashamir has the pliers in his hand.
“Dashamir. No.” I try to move, to get to her, but I can’t. “Don’t touch her. Don’t—”
“Shh, you’re okay.” Gentle hands push me back down. “You’re dreaming. It’s just a fever dream.”
I fight against the hands. I have to save her. Have to get to her before—
“Vincenzo, stop. You’ll hurt yourself.”
That voice. Soft. Worried. Real.
“Adora?” My voice comes out as a croak.
“I’m here. I’m safe. So are you.”
Am I? I can’t remember. Everything’s so confused.
The darkness pulls me under again.
Voices again.Clearer this time.
“…staying with Lucy. Yes, I’m fine, Dad. I’ll explain later…”
Adora is on the phone lying to someone. Why is she lying? I try to ask, but the words won’t come. My tongue is too thick, my throat too dry.
Sleep drags me back down.
When I wake,the room is dim. It’s late evening or early morning, I can’t tell which. A single lamp casts soft light across familiar walls.
This is my bedroom. I’m in my bed. The pain is still there but duller now. My head feels clearer and the fever has broken.
Movement draws my attention. Adora sits in a chair pulled close to the bed, her hands carefully unwrapping bandages from my fingers. Her face is drawn with concentration and exhaustion. Her hair is in a messy updo. She looks like she hasn’t slept in days.
“Doe,” I rasp.
Her head snaps up, eyes widening as they flare with hope. “Vincenzo. You’re awake. Really awake this time.”
I try to lift my hand to touch her face, but the movement sends pain shooting through my damaged fingers. She catches my wrist gently, stopping me.
“Don’t. You’ll hurt yourself.”
But I stubbornly bring my hand to her face because I have to touch her, and she smiles a little against my palm.
“How do you feel?”
“Like I went ten rounds with that big Dervishi bastard.” My voice is rough. Speaking makes my ribs ache. “How long have I been out?”
“Almost two days.” Her thumb brushes my wrist, just above where the bandages start. “You had a fever. We were worried about infection.”
Two days. Christ.
I study her face in the dim light. There are dark circles under her eyes. She’s hunched forward like she’s been sitting in that chair for hours.
“And you took care of me all this time, doe?” I manage a small smile despite the pain. “Have you slept at all?”
