Sofia Vasquez
The hospital room was a battlefield of beeps and shadows, the monitors’ green glow painting my skin in sickly light. Pain radiated from my shoulder where the bullet had grazed, but the real wound was deeper; my lungs, ravaged by cancer, gasping for air the machines forced into me. The IV dripped a cocktail of antibiotics and painkillers, keeping infection at bay but not the fear clawing my heart. Elena’s scream from Victor’s video, “No!”—still echoed in my skull, her face crumpling as she saw the merc in scrubs tampering with my line. Marco’s muffled cry. Alexander’s roar. They were coming, my children, my love, racing through the city to save me. But I wasn’t the helpless mother they thought. Not anymore.
I’d woken an hour ago, alone, the ICU quiet except for the hum of ma
