The excruciating hours following the surgery blurred together in a terrifying, exhausted haze. The blinding surgical lights were finally dimmed, casting the sterile medical suite in a cool, muted glow. The heavy scent of copper and burnt gunpowder had been meticulously scrubbed away by the silent estate staff, leaving behind only the sharp, clinical smell of antiseptic.
Valerius lay entirely motionless on the crisp white hospital bed that had replaced the cold steel operating table. He looked absolutely nothing like the terrifying, untouchable warlord of the Thorne Syndicate. His broad chest rose and fell in a slow, medically induced rhythm, heavily wrapped in thick layers of pristine white bandages. The intricate, dark tattoos on his muscular arms stood out in stark contrast against his
