The ache in my shoulder is relentless, but I’ve dealt with worse. Walking around, even with my arm in a sling, feels like a victory in itself. The bullet wound is healing, though not fast enough for my liking. I’ve been stuck in bed for days, relying on Grace for almost everything, and now that I can finally move around again, it’s time to get back to business. There’s no way I’m letting this situation slip through my fingers, not with Desmond out there, likely plotting something.
Grace is hovering again, just like she’s been doing since I woke up. Every time I move, she’s right there, watching, worrying. It’s almost endearing, though I won’t admit it aloud. I make my way over to the kitchen, slow and deliberate, each step carefully placed. I’m trying not to show how much it hurts, but Gr
