Amara's POV
"Nutrient drip?" I examined the IV line with careful precision. "What's this for?"
While questioning him, I located a suitable injection site on Dominic's arm and delivered a dose of muscle relaxant.
The amount wasn't excessive, but it would effectively reduce the muscle spasms and tremors plaguing him.
Dominic clearly didn't want me witnessing him in such a vulnerable condition. But circumstances had stripped away that choice. "Getting clean," he admitted.
The nutrient drip served two purposes. Food wouldn't stay down—his body rejected everything.
When withdrawal hit hard, violent retching followed.
During unconscious episodes, vomit could obstruct his breathing—a potentially fatal complication.
I arched an eyebrow. "So you're white-knuckling it through sheer stubbornness?"
The muscle relaxant was already working its magic. Dominic sprawled on the floor, his usual eccentric, seemingly unhinged personality returning. "What else? You got brilliant alternatives?"
