Chapter Two
981 Words
The hospital was a blur of fluorescent lights and the clinical sting of antiseptic. When Voss first woke, he nearly broke the nurse's arm as she reached for his IV. He was a cornered wolf, his mind screaming Marseille and danger.
But then there was Amelia. She sat by his bed every day after her lectures, her head buried in textbooks. She didn’t look like a hitman; she looked like a girl who was tired of being alone. After he slept for three more days, he finally opened his eyes
“You’re awake,” Amelia said, her voice soft and hesitant. She set her books aside and moved to his bedside.
“Who are you?” he asked. His voice wasn't raspy, but it carried a weight she didn't yet understand.
She moved closer, looking at him not with fear, but with a strange, quiet pity. “I’m Amelia. I found you on the shore four days ago."
He studied her, trying to sit up to analyze his surroundings, but his body betrayed him with a wave of blinding agony. He realized he wasn't in an enemy lair. Above him, the IV stand stood like a metal sentinel, dripping life into him one drop at a time. The monitor gave a rhythmic ping, a steady, electronic assurance that his heart was still intact. For the first time in his life, he didn't have a plan.
“Do you remember what happened? What is your name?” she asked, searching his eyes for answers.
He ignored her, needing a tactical assessment instead. “Date and time?”
“August 15th. 4:00 PM, we are still in the promise of fall.” she answered promptly.
“Six days,” he muttered.
“Huh?”
“You can call me Adrian.”
“Okay, Adrian. Are you hungry?” When he nodded, she smiled. “I’ll call the doctor to check on you.”
After his meal, the doctor insisted he move to combat the deterioration from his time spent unconscious. It was agonizing, his muscles screamed and his vision swam in shades of grey, but he had to know his perimeter. Leaning on a wooden cane, he made his way to the balcony overlooking Bonifacio.
The town was a fortress of limestone and ancient sun. People moved with a slow ease that was alien to him, old men played cards, a woman hung laundry. No black SUVs, no earpieces and no hand signals.
Nobody knew him, but to be sure, he ventured further, meeting Amelia in the hallway.
“Tired already?” she asked, offering her arm for assistance. He acknowledged her with a small, rare smile. “No, I want to go outside.”
They sat in the quiet air, and a cold relief settled over him. He was a ghost in a town of strangers.
“The air is good for you,” she said softly. “The doctor says you’ll need a month before you can even think about traveling.”
Adrian gripped the railing until his knuckles turned white. He didn’t just need a month, he needed a sanctuary.
He needed to disappear until he could become the monster they thought they’d killed. “I’m not going anywhere, Amelia.”
She smiled, and his pulse skipped.
“If that’s the case…” she started, twisting the strap of her bag. Her mind screamed at her to walk away, but she saw only exhaustion in his eyes. He didn't look like a criminal, he looked more like a man who had reached the end of the world.
“Would you stay at my place? Just until you’re back on your feet. You don’t have a phone, or money. You’re kind of stuck, Adrian.” She looked at him with hope. “It’s small and not fancy, but it’s safe. Better than a park bench.”
“Your place?” he asked, his voice a rough vibration.
“Right above the bakery,” she said. “It smells like fresh bread and burnt sugar every morning. But it is quiet.”
Quiet.
That word sold him. He was tired of the noise of gunfire and screaming orders. “Okay. I’ll stay.”
In his head, he made a promise: for a while, he wouldn’t be the man who ran operations. He would just be Adrian.
Later that night, while Adrian was sedated, Amelia sat at her desk. She pulled the gold ring from her pocket, the diamond sparking in the moonlight. It felt wrong to let it go, but the rent was late and the bills were high. She took a quick photo as a memory, then sold it to a collector who asked no questions.
She walked home with enough cash to keep them afloat, unaware that the second the collector logged that gold crest, a clock had started ticking.
The move was manageable, though the apartment was smaller than he imagined.
“The bedroom is yours,” Amelia insisted, settling onto the sofa.
Adrian lay in the dark, staring at the ceiling. The weight of the V Lord’s crown was gone, replaced by a terrifying lightness. He rubbed his thumb against his bare ring finger habitual and restless. He was a ghost now, hiding in the scent of flour and peace.
He listened to the waves hitting the cliffs, like a lullaby. He was safe. They were safe.
He didn’t know that the girl sleeping on the couch was now the tether that would pull his enemies straight to her door. In the quiet dark, the only thing that stirred was a shadow on the wall, stretching long and thin, warning of the year to come.
- Writer
