The hospital room was white and sterile and exactly like Adrian imagined hell would look if hell was designed by pharmaceutical companies. The bullet had shattered his clavicle and caused significant soft tissue damage, but the doctors assured him he would eventually recover full use of his arm. Adrian didn't care. He'd stopped caring about physical recovery months ago. He was more interested in understanding how he'd managed to fail so completely at everything he'd attempted.
Federal Agent Catherine Wells sat across from his bed, no longer pretending to be someone he could trust. She was exactly what she'd always been—an agent with her own agenda, using Adrian as a tool to achieve objectives he didn't fully understand.
"Elena's compound has been secured," Wells informed him. "All of her
