CHAPTER SIXTY THREE
ALEX DAVALO
It was frightening!
Sandro and I had been driving home after class that day when I suddenly began to feel a sharp pain shooting through my body. It was strange and unsettling, like an electric current stinging under my skin. I furrowed my brow, gripping the steering wheel tightly as I tried to push through the discomfort. “What the hell is this?” I muttered, trying to focus on the road ahead.
The jazz music softly playing in the background did little to ease my anxiety. Sandro, oblivious to my inner turmoil, bobbed his head to the rhythm, tapping his fingers on the dashboard. I glanced at him, wishing I could share how I was feeling, but the words were stuck in my throat.
“Hey, man, are you good?” Sandro asked, finally noticing my silence. He shot me
