Light.Too bright. Too white.
Luiz flinched, the glare burning his eyes before he could even open them fully. Every nerve in his body screamed—fire under his skin, bruises pulsing like heartbeats. He tried to move, but pain pinned him down, heavy and unrelenting.
He was lying on something soft—too clean, too cold. A hospital bed. The sharp smell of antiseptic filled his lungs. Machines beeped in steady, mechanical rhythm, like distant echoes of life he wasn't sure he still wanted.
For a long moment, he didn't remember how he'd gotten there. Only flashes—voices, darkness, a hand gripping his hair, a dull thud, the sound of something breaking. Then nothing.
He blinked, vision struggling to focus, and shapes slowly came into view. Two figures stood near the foot of his bed. One tall, rigid. The other smaller, fidgeting, his face pale with worry.
His father. And Mateo.
Luiz's throat was dry, cracked. The words came out like gravel."...Mateo?"
The boy's head snapped up. His eyes were red, rimmed with tears, his lips trembling. "Luiz—! You're awake—"
The father's voice cut through, low and sharp. "Quiet."
Mateo froze. The old man stepped closer, his presence cold as the machines beside the bed. He wore his usual expression—composure carved from stone—but there was something darker there this time. Something buried deep behind his eyes.
Luiz could barely lift his gaze to meet him. Every breath hurt. His ribs felt like shattered glass. His lip was split, his right eye swollen shut. Beneath the hospital gown, his skin was a patchwork of blue, purple, black.
His father said nothing at first. He simply looked at his son—the one everyone whispered was too much like his mother, too defiant, too emotional—and then exhaled through his nose, slow and controlled.
"You've embarrassed this family for the last time," he said finally. His tone wasn't angry—it was worse. It was disappointed. Final. "Do you have any idea what she told me you did?"
Luiz tried to speak, but his voice cracked. "I didn't—"
His father's expression hardened. "Enough."
Mateo stepped forward, voice shaking. "It wasn't his fault! Grandmother—she—"
"Enough!" the man thundered, and the sound made Luiz flinch. The monitors spiked in response.
For a moment, the room was silent again except for the soft whir of the machines. His father adjusted his cuffs, his voice quieter now but no less cutting. "You'll stay here until the doctors say you're fit to leave. After that…" He paused, letting the words hang, heavy and cold. "…you won't be returning to the house."
Luiz stared at him, disbelief breaking through the fog."Wh—what?"
"Consider it mercy," his father said. "Next time, I won't interfere."
He turned toward the door, leaving the scent of expensive cologne and bitterness behind him. Mateo's voice cracked as he tried to follow. "Father—please, he didn't—"
"Stay with him if you wish," the man said without looking back. "It won't change anything."
The door clicked shut.
Mateo's breath hitched. He turned to Luiz, eyes wet, jaw trembling. "She said you attacked her," he whispered. "She said you tried to—Luiz, what happened down there?"
Luiz closed his eyes. He could still feel it—the cellar's cold walls, her voice whispering through the dark, the sudden rush of pain, the black void that followed.
He wanted to tell him everything. But his throat burned, and something inside him told him to stay silent. To wait.
Because this wasn't over.
He forced a breath through his cracked lips, voice low, hoarse, barely human."She's not done yet."
Mateo frowned, confusion flickering in his eyes. "What do you mean?"
Luiz turned his gaze toward the ceiling, the white light now sharp and cruel. Somewhere in the hallway outside, he thought he heard a familiar sound—the click of heels. Slow. Methodical. Inevitable.
He closed his eyes again, his pulse quickening.
Grandmother Valentine had found him.
And this time, there would be no hospital walls thick enough to keep her out.