IVY
A steady beep threaded through the room, punctured by the soft patter of rain against the window. The air tasted of antiseptic and wet earth, a strange blend that anchored me somewhere between hospital and storm.
My eyes fluttered open. At first everything was a blur, then my gaze found two men standing at a distance, their backs turned as they spoke in low voices.
Straight, smooth, muscular backs. Who were they?
When my focus sharpened, I recognized the black T-shirt: Vladimir. He was talking with one of his men.
The bed shifted beneath me with a rustle. Vladimir turned quickly. I tried to sit up; Craig came to my side and propped pillows behind me, moving with that efficient, practiced care that made him seem almost part of the furniture.
I felt a soft, searching gaze settle on
