Here's the chapter with every instance of "Paulo" corrected to "Paolo," and nothing else changed:
The room was still, save for the soft tick of Eli's watch.
He checked it again. 2:03 PM. Thirty minutes had slipped by in silence. His ribs still ached with every breath, but the world had stopped tilting when he moved. That was good enough.
He reached over, nudging Paolo's shoulder. "Hey, wake up."
Paolo stirred with a groan, rubbing at his eyes. "We're moving already?"
"Yeah. Here." Eli dug into the bag, pulling out a crinkled pack of biscuits—half-crushed from the fight—and two water bottles. They sat side by side on the floor, chewing in the quiet. The biscuits were dry, sticking to their teeth, but neither complained. Water washed the crumbs down, cool against parched throats.
Between bites, they spoke low, mapping the next steps. "Parking building's just across the service walkway," Eli said. "We keep quiet, move fast. If something's in there, we backtrack." Paolo nodded, expression tight.
When they finally pushed the door open, the hall beyond was empty. Their steps were soft against the tile, each footfall measured. The service walkway yawned ahead—wide glass panels letting in shafts of afternoon light, dust drifting lazily in the air.
The parking building was cooler, shadows pooling between rows of concrete pillars. Their eyes adjusted, scanning the dim space. No movement. No sound but the faint hum of distant wind through the open levels.
Then they saw it—Eli's car.
A hulking GMC Hummer EV, matte black, the paint swallowing the light rather than reflecting it. The body sat higher than stock, lifted on reinforced suspension, armored panels running along its flanks. The front bumper had been replaced with a heavy-duty steel push bar, matte black to match, with recessed LED floodlights built into its frame. Vented hood scoops funneled air into the electric cooling systems, and the side air intakes were widened, covered with fine mesh to keep debris out. Rock sliders lined the sides, their edges scarred from use. On the roof, a pair of slim lightbars were mounted flush, almost invisible until lit. The tinted windows were nearly opaque from the outside, giving the truck the profile of something built for both speed and siege.
Paolo stopped. "Holy shit." His voice was almost a whisper. "That's yours?"
Eli allowed himself a faint, tired smirk. "Yeah."
"It's—" Paolo stepped closer, trailing a hand along the armored door. "This thing looks like it costs more than the building we just left."
"Come on," Eli said quietly, scanning the upper levels before unlocking the door with a muted click.
They circled the area once more, eyes flicking to every shadow, every gap between cars. Satisfied, they slid inside—the cabin smelling faintly of leather and ozone. The seats swallowed them in soft black upholstery, the center console gleaming under a layer of dust.
Paolo whistled low, still taking it in. "So… how the hell did you afford this?"
Eli's hand rested on the steering wheel, fingers tracing the worn edge where his palm usually sat. "It was a birthday gift," he said after a pause. "From my father."
The way he said it was different—low, almost careful, as though each word had to be weighed before being spoken. It wasn't pride in his voice, nor gratitude, but something quieter. Something complicated.
His gaze lingered on the dash for a moment, the faint reflection of his eyes lost in the tinted glass. A slow, heavy sigh left him—part exhaustion, part something else entirely.
Paolo shifted in his seat, curiosity tugging at his expression, but he didn't press. Some silences weren't meant to be filled.
Outside, the parking building stayed quiet, but it felt like the air was holding its breath.
The Hummer's cabin was warm with trapped air, the outside world pressing in through the glass.
"Check the black pack first," Eli said, nodding to the one Paolo had carried since the break room.
Paolo unzipped it, pulling things out just enough to glance at them. "Biscuits—crushed. Gloves. Blanket. Wipes. Antiseptic wash." He dug deeper. Shears, gauze, syringes. Masks. Tape. Some clothes. Two half-full waters. Oh—and an ID badge." He didn't read the name.
"Keep the water upright. Last thing we need is leaks," Eli murmured.
He pulled his own duffel onto his lap. One sealed water bottle. A trauma pouch—gauze, antiseptic gel, gloves. The black, brick-sized power bank and a cord long enough to lasso a chair. His dead phone. Folded hoodie. Flashlight. Multi-tool. Protein bar.
Paolo eyed the growing pile between them. "You always carry this much?"
"I like to keep things in case I need them," Eli said without looking up. Then, dryly, "If I could fit more, I would."
He twisted in his seat, lifting the center latch to the cargo space. "Grab the sticks."
"What sticks?"
"My Arnis sticks. They're under the med kit."
Paolo slid into the backseat. The Hummer was spacious, but Eli had packed it like a mobile storeroom. His hand passed over a survival knife in its sheath, trauma shears, gauze rolls, a nearly full bottle of alcohol, a penlight, a pulse oximeter, and an expensive black stethoscope. Past the toolbox and spare batteries, a cooler with water bottles, Eli's hydroflask, snacks, wet wipes, and a throw pillow. Finally, tucked in the corner, the twin rattan lengths. He pulled them free and passed them forward.
"You know," Paolo said, "most people keep jumper cables. You're ready for surgery and a camping trip at the same time."
"Better to have it and not need it," Eli replied.
Eli checked the rearview, voice shifting back to business. "We're not walking out. Too exposed. We make noise, draw them away, then drive through."
Paolo frowned. "Noise, how?"
"Fire alarm… or hit another car hard enough to trip its security system."
Eli checked the rearview, his voice shifting back to business. "We're not walking out," he said flatly. "Too exposed. We make noise, draw them away, then drive through."
Paolo frowned. "Noise, how?"
"Fire alarm… or hit another car hard enough to trip its security system."
Before Paolo could respond, a series of pop-pop-pop bursts cracked through the stale air. Muffled but distinct, they echoed from somewhere beyond the hospital grounds, each one sending a faint metallic ripple through the Hummer's frame.
Eli exhaled slowly, calming his nerves, and his eyes hardened. "Now."
The Hummer rolled forward, tires whispering over concrete. As they passed a fire alarm mounted on a pillar, Eli rolled down his window, leaned out, and slammed it with the heel of his palm. The shrill wail exploded into the garage, ricocheting off the walls until it felt like the whole building was screaming.
Seconds later, he swerved toward a sedan and clipped its front bumper hard. The car alarm erupted in a jagged scream of beeps and whoops, bouncing off the concrete pillars.
They sped toward the ramp. Near the exit, Eli's eyes caught movement—something hunched and twitched by the gate. Pale skinned, Black veins all across its body, long limbs bent in ways a human shouldn't be.
"Shit," Paolo breathed.
Eli didn't slow. The Hummer surged forward, the push bar slamming into the creature. There was a wet, bone-deep CRRRSHHK—like crushing overripe fruit wrapped around splintering twigs. The thing cartwheeled sideways, smearing against the asphalt before vanishing under the roar of the tires.
The reinforced bumper smashed through the parking gate, metal shrieking as it bent and broke—and when they hit open road, the Hummer roared on without so much as a scratch.
Paolo glanced over his shoulder, then back at the dashboard, eyebrows raised. "Not even a dent," he said, half in awe, half in disbelief. "Your car's a damn tank."
Eli kept his eyes forward, a faint smirk ghosting over his face.