Chapter 4

The hospital room felt different this time.

It was sterile, blindingly white, and it smelled of lies.

A heavy plaster cast anchored my leg to the bed, a dead weight against the crisp sheets.

Every shallow breath hitched against the cage of my three broken ribs.

Behind my eyes, a concussion throbbed a dull, rhythmic warning.

But the worst injury was the clarity.

It sliced through the haze of painkillers with brutal precision, refusing to let me sink back into oblivion.

I reached for the phone resting on the bedside table.

My fingers trembled, not just from weakness, but from resolve.

I dialed three numbers.