What was left of me, anyway.
My uniform hung in torn, filthy strips, barely clinging to my body.
Blood had crusted over nearly every exposed inch—my forehead, my arms, my knees, my thighs—dark and stiff in some places, still tacky in others.
My knees—already ravaged from the mountain punishment—were swollen and raw.
Every small movement sent a fresh pulse of pain racing through my legs.
I couldn’t sit.
Not on the chairs. Not on anything soft.
The thought of fabric pressing against open wounds made my skin crawl.
So instead, I moved carefully—slowly—lowering myself onto the cold concrete floor.
The moment I touched it, a shiver ran through my body.
I stretched my legs out in front of me, straightening them as much as my trembling body would allow.
Then I leaned back, bracing myself against the leg of the nearest chair, letting it support what little strength I had left.
My breathing was shallow.
Each inhale scraped against my ribs.
I swallowed hard.
My throat was dry.
“Vincenzo...” The whisper slipped out before I could stop it.
Barely audible. Fragile.
“Please... find me.”
My fingers moved instinctively, slipping into my pocket.
The phone.
Still there.
I pulled it out slowly, cradling it in both hands like it was something sacred—something fragile enough to shatter if I held it too tightly.
The screen was cracked.
Spiderweb fractures spreading across the glass like a wound.
The battery—dead.
No signal. No hope.
No way out.
But I couldn’t let it go.
It was the last thread connecting me to something outside this place.
