Ezekiel
The first thing I felt when I woke up was pain.
A dull, throbbing ache radiated from the stitched wound on my stomach. The hospital bed was stiff and uncomfortable, the sterile smell of antiseptic hanging heavy in the air. I blinked slowly, trying to adjust to the morning light filtering through the thin curtains.
Everything from last night came rushing back — the dark alley, the glint of knives, the sudden sharp pain as the blade sank into my stomach. The fear. The helplessness. I let out a soft sigh and tried to shift on the bed, but even that small movement made me wince. The stitches pulled tight, sending a fresh wave of discomfort through me.
I turned my head and saw Garrett lying on the bed beside mine. His bandaged palm rested on his chest, and he looked just as exhaust
