Dom floated toward the sound, pushing through layers of darkness that seemed to cling to him like wet fabric. His body felt impossibly heavy, disconnected. Like he’d been disassembled and put back together by someone who’d only seen the instructions once.
The beeping continued, insistent. With it came other sensations—the scratch of stiff sheets against his skin, the sharp antiseptic smell that meant medical facility, the dull throb in his left shoulder that pulsed in time with his heartbeat.
He tried to open his eyes, but his eyelids refused to cooperate. Too heavy. Everything was too heavy. The effort drained what little energy he had, and for a moment, he drifted again, lost in the haze between consciousness and darkness.
“Dom?” The voice pulled him back—soft, familiar, etched with concern. “Dom, can you hear me?”
He tried again, managed to crack his eyes open. The room was dimly lit, but even that felt too bright. He blinked, waiting for the blur to resolve into something recognizable.
Vivi’s face came into focus. Her blonde hair was tangled, falling around her face in loose waves. Dark circles shadowed her eyes, and her clothes—the same ones she’d worn at the warehouse—were rumpled and stained with what he realized must be his blood.
“Vivi,” he rasped, his voice a shredded whisper.
Relief flooded her face. She squeezed his hand hard enough to hurt, her other hand coming up to brush hair from his forehead. “Thank God,” she said. “You scared the shit out of me.”
He tried to smile, though it felt more like a grimace. His throat burned, and swallowing felt like dragging sandpaper down his esophagus. “Water?”
She reached for something out of his line of sight, then held a cup with a straw to his lips. The cool water was heaven sliding down his throat. He drank greedily until she pulled it away.
“Easy,” she said. “Not too much at once.”
He licked his lips, relishing the moisture. “Where...?”
“WSW medical facility. Davey had you airlifted straight here after the extraction.” Her thumb traced circles on the back of his hand. “You’ve been out for almost thirty hours.”
Thirty hours. Christ.
Memory flooded back—the warehouse, the gunfight, Sabin’s blank eyes, the bullet tearing through his shoulder. He tried to sit up and immediately regretted it. White-hot pain seared through his left side, momentarily blanking out his vision.
“Don’t move, you idiot,” Vivi said, pressing her hand to his chest, pushing him back down. “You just had major surgery.”
He let her, too weak to fight it. “Sabin?”
Her expression tightened. “He’s stable. They have him sedated in a secure room.”
“Did he... is he still...?” He couldn’t find the right words to ask if her brother was still the hollow shell they’d found at the warehouse.
“We don’t know yet,” she said, her voice strained. “Daphne’s working with Tessa and the medical team. They’re trying to understand what was done to him, how to reverse it.”
Dom nodded, but the movement sent a fresh wave of pain through his skull. Jesus, they’d pumped him full of the good drugs and he still hurt this much?
“You were lucky,” Vivi said, as if reading his thoughts.
“Always am.” He tried for a cocky smile but knew it fell short. “That’s why you love me.”
She snorted but didn’t contradict him. Progress, maybe.
“The team?” he asked.
“All clear. Griffin has a few bruises from wrestling with Sabin. Bridger’s nose is broken. Everyone else is fine.” She paused. “You were the worst casualty.”
“Sounds about right.” He shifted, trying to find a position that hurt less. There wasn’t one. “What about Praetorian? Raines?”
“Gone,” she said flatly. “Escaped during the initial breach. Cade too.”
Cade. His cousin’s face flashed in his mind—that moment across the warehouse floor when their eyes had met, when Cade had aimed and deliberately missed. What the hell was that about?
Before he could ask, the door opened and a doctor entered—mid-forties, with a severe haircut and the brisk efficiency that screamed military medical background. Probably one of WSW’s contracted physicians.
