13
Kira listened to the background noises of the hospital: conversations from the hallway, muffled pages over the intercom and shuffling footsteps outside her room. She sat propped up on a bed. Her muscles ached and her head was throbbing, but the abrasion on her temple had been bandaged and hadn’t required stitches. She felt no worse than after a real match at the gym without headgear. A few hours had passed since the accident, and she had spent most of the time being poked a prodded. Now she was just waiting for a final verdict on her condition.
“So your brake lines were definitely cut,” Trevor said, looking up from his phone. He had been glued to her side since he had found her in the wreck of her car. “Your regular brake and your emergency brake. You must have pissed someone off.”
K
