Beep... Beep... Beep.

  The steady rhythm of the heart monitor was the only sound piercing through the haze of my consciousness.

  “His breathing is slowing down...” a panicked voice echoed in the sterile environment.

  “That’s expired! Are you sure you want to inject that into him? What if it kills him?” Another voice shouted, tinged with desperation and fear.

  “What choice do we have! He’s dead if he doesn’t get this treatment!” The urgency in the speaker's tone was palpable, a stark reminder of the gravity of the situation.

  A sharp pain sliced through my chest like a jagged knife. My eyelids fluttered open for a fleeting moment; I was met with a blinding white light that felt almost otherworldly, and in that brief glimpse, I saw a bloodied hand hovering ominously over me before my eyelids fell shut again.

  Was I trapped in my own nightmare? Or was I somehow still clinging to life, with the thin thread of consciousness unraveling?

  Slowly, against a backdrop of muffled voices and the relentless beeping, I managed to pry my eyes open once more. “Where am I?” I whispered, my voice barely audible, hoarse, and cracking.

  “He’s talking!” The earlier voice now sounded both relieved and frantic. “Max? Max? Can you hear me? See me?”

  Through my clouded vision, I made out the familiar figure of Eva, her features blurred yet filled with intensity. The worry etched across her face mingled with traces of hope.

  “Didn’t think you actually had feelings for me,” I attempted a weak laugh, trying to lighten the suffocating tension, but it turned into a painful cough that racked my body. Each spasm sent jolts of fire through my chest, stealing my breath away.

  My eyes fluttered shut once more, fatigue enveloping me like a heavy shroud.

  Hours drifted by like shadows across the room until my eyes finally fluttered open. A dull, throbbing pain pulsed through my head as if I had been violently slammed against a brick wall. My ribs screamed in protest with every shallow breath, and my right leg felt weak and limp, as though it had surrendered completely.

  I looked around and noticed that I was nestled in the dimly lit living room of someone’s apartment. My mind raced, trying to piece together the fragments of memory. The last vivid recollection I had was of me and Henry, sprinting on the roof of the GIM, desperate to escape the relentless gunfire of the Voodoo Boys.

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  “You’re finally awake...” A voice cut through the thick haze of confusion.

  I turned my head, wincing at the motion, and fixed my gaze on her.

  “Have you been watching me this whole time?” I managed to croak out, my throat dry.

  Eva sat across the room, an air of detached indifference surrounding her. She cradled a cigarette in her left hand, its smoke curling lazily towards the ceiling.

  “Don’t flatter yourself; I’ve only been here for an hour.” Her response was cold, but I could see a flicker of something beneath her composed exterior. A fleeting memory tugged at my mind—her face peering over me in concern as darkness enveloped my consciousness.

  The front door creaked open, slicing through the tension in the air.

  “Max! You're fully awake.” Michelle’s voice was a mix of relief and enthusiasm as she stepped inside. Her eyes searched mine, brimming with concern. “How do you feel?”

  “Sore, but I’m still breathing...” I replied with a laugh.

  “What’s the last thing you remember?” Michelle pressed, her gentle demeanor urging me to delve deeper into the chaos of my recollections.

  “I and Henry were doing the job you gave us, moving quickly, and then—we were getting shot at by the Voodoo Boys. Before I knew it, we were both falling...” I tried to remember what happened next, but my mind drew a blank. “Then I woke up here. I don't know how I got here. How long have I been out?” I asked, my voice hoarse and gravelly.

  “It’s just past four o'clock in the morning; if I had to guess, you’ve been unconscious for at least five hours,” Eva replied, flicking the ash off her cigarette, the smoke curling up into the dim light of the room.

  “Sure, as shit feels longer, but there isn't no rest for the wicked." I slowly lifted myself off the cold, hard wooden table, the chill of the surface sending a shiver down my spine, but Michelle placed a gentle hand on my shoulder, halting my movement. Her grip was reassuring—a silent promise of support.

  “Hang on a second! You're not going anywhere,” she said, her voice steady yet laced with genuine concern. “You need to rest. Just wait right here for a moment; I’ll get you some water.”

  Her worry was palpable, and she was right, of course. My body felt as if it had been run over by a truck—exhausted and aching in every conceivable way. I reclined back on the table, propping myself up on one elbow as I turned my gaze toward Eva, who sat across the room, her eyes fixated on me like a hawk assessing its prey.

  “It’s funny,” I said, breaking the thick silence that hung in the air like a fog, “under that icy persona, you actually care about your sister. She’s lucky to have someone like you.”

  Eva shifted slightly in her chair, her demeanor poised yet enigmatic. “If anyone knows about personas, it’s you, Max,” she replied sharply, her tone tinged with an edge of defensiveness, but beneath it all, I could sense something softer, a glimmer of vulnerability.

  I furrowed my brow, genuinely perplexed by her words. “What does that mean?” I asked, my voice probing for clarity in the murky waters of our conversation.

  Without answering, Eva stood up abruptly, her silhouette slicing through the dim light as she began walking toward the exit, casting a long, elongated shadow against the peeling walls of the stark room. Each step echoed, amplifying the tension that had suddenly filled the space between us.

  “Eva! Eva, wait!”