The city slid past in streaks of silver and rain.
I sat back against the leather seat, the faint tremor in my hand hidden beneath the folds of my coat. Every breath was a drag against torn muscle — sharp, metallic. The stitches at my side had split somewhere between the elevator and the car, and warm blood soaked through the gauze beneath my shirt. I didn't mention it. Pain was information; I'd learned to read it, not fear it.
The SUV made a smooth turn, tires hissing on wet asphalt. The pain in my shoulder pulsed with the rhythm of the road. My vision ghosted for half a second — just enough to remind me I was running on fumes. I pressed a hand to the spot instinctively, fingers coming away faintly red.
Cameron noticed. "Adrien," he said, voice low, "you're bleeding again."
"I'm aware." I reached for the bottle of water beside me, twisting the cap open. "Did you call Kassel, for updates?"
