VANESSA
A brutal pain throbs in my skull and yanks me out of the void. When I open my eyes, my blurred vision stutters in: first the metallic drip in some corner; then the low hum of a fan; finally, a rectangle of milky light overhead, floating over suspended dust. I smell mold, old blood, and gun oil. The air is dense, sticky, refusing to let me breathe. My whole body hurts as if a beast ran me over.
I blink. The shadows come into focus out of sync. I make out polished black boots first, planted with the kind of certainty that needs no entrance music. Above them, the line of dark pants, the unmoving cut of strong thighs and a torso that never slumps. His silhouette is imposing—broad shoulders, muscled arms, a solid chest etched beneath a tight black T-shirt. It looks like his brutal en
