The penthouse smelled of antiseptic, copper, and Kaelen’s raw, suffocating paranoia.
I was lying in the center of the massive king bed, the dark charcoal sheets stained with the soot and grime I had brought back from the subterranean bunker. I didn't care about the mess, and neither did Kaelen. He stood over me, his massive frame radiating a terrifying, coiled tension as he watched Doc Henderson work on my leg.
The elderly doctor was sweating profusely. His hands trembled as he injected a local anesthetic around the jagged, deep laceration on my right calf.
"I need to flush the wound, Boss," Henderson stammered, not daring to look away from my leg. "There are microscopic shards of glass embedded deep in the muscle tissue from the coffee table. It’s going to take time to extract them
