Nico:
Darkness wasn’t sleep.
It was suspension—like falling through oil. Heavy. Hot. Suffocating.
I drifted through it like a corpse in the tide, only half aware of the weight pulling at my limbs, the ache in my jaw, the taste of copper blooming on my tongue.
Voices filtered in like static.
“…secure him in the old wing…”
“…shouldn’t be down there, boss said…”
“…shut up and move him—now.”
My body didn’t work.
But my mind did.
I counted the steps. Tracked the rhythm of boots. Registered the shift in temperature as they dragged me into the belly of the compound—the forgotten halls no one talked about anymore. Where blood washed into the walls and the foundation never dried.
Dante didn’t want me dead.
Not yet.
He wanted me buried. Tucked away and silenced while he reached for her.
