Page 237 of Caterina

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Jesus.

My side is a deep, pulsing burn beneath layers of bandage and tape and whatever drugs they still have running through my veins. It feels torn apart and put back together, which means it probably was. Every inhale tugs at something. Every tiny shift sends a warning through my ribs.

There are other pains too, though those are fainter. Jaw, cheekbone, shoulder, wrist, knuckles, even my thigh.

Inventory comes automatically.

Airway clear.

Hands restrained? No.

IV left arm.

Pulse ox finger.

No weapon.

Then memories start coming back in fragments.

Power going down, phones jammed, safe room. Caterina telling me not to go. Guys creeping through her house.

Andrew.

The thought of Andrew brings me closer to the surface, and memories start coming faster.

The guy at the panel, being attacked, Vito and Nico showing up, then disappearing. Fixing the monitors, then being attacked again.

Fist in my side again and again. Forearm jammed against my throat.

This time, I knew I wasn’t getting out of it.

Darkness closing in.

Then…

Caterina.

I smile dreamily.

Her face looking down on mine.

Her mouth forming my name.

I try to answer back, and it comes out as a weak sound.

A chair scrapes hard against the floor.

“Adrian?”

Everything in me focuses on her voice.

I force my eyes open, and light stabs into them. I close them again and feel the light behind my lids dim.

I try again, and it takes a lot of effort. My eyelids feel weighted, my vision blurred around the edges. For a second, the room swims white and gray and bright, and I cannot make anything hold still.

Then she comes into focus.

She is standing beside the bed, one hand pressed to the mattress, the other gripping mine.

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