Chapter 106: The plan
Carmen
Before I even opened my eyes, I could feel my head. But instead of sitting where it should have been, balanced on my shoulders, it felt wrong—too large, too heavy, like an entire building had been placed there and I was somehow just the foundation holding it up.
There was a dull, persistent hammering that seemed to travel through my skull in slow, punishing waves. It hurt, but strangely, not in the way I expected. It was as if my mind recognized the pain but refused to fully register it as unbearable.
The rest of my body felt distant, muted, like I had been submerged deep beneath water and was only just beginning to be pulled back to the surface. Every sensation came slowly, thick and delayed, as though it had to fight its way through layers before reaching me.
Still, I forced my eyes open.
The light hit me first. The room was bright, sunlight pouring in through a nearby window in a way that told me it was already afternoon. My vision blurred before it slowly adjusted, shapes sharpening into something recognizable.
Beeping machines. Sterile walls. The unmistakable stillness of a hospital room.
Memory followed, not all at once, but in fragments that pieced themselves together with uncomfortable clarity.
And then my gaze landed on him.
He sat at the foot of my bed, a book resting in his hands. Or rather, it looked like he had been holding it. The pages were open, but his attention clearly wasn’t on them. The book lay face down against his lap, abandoned, as his eyes were fixed entirely on me.
Nico.
His expression was calm, almost too calm, but there was something beneath it. Something restrained. A quiet tension that pressed against the surface.
Annoyance.
The distance between us said enough. Most people would have sat beside the bed, close enough to offer comfort, reassurance, something human. But Nico had chosen the farthest spot in the room that still allowed him to watch me.
I met his gaze in silence.
I might have smiled, or at least tried to, but even that felt like too much effort. My body refused to cooperate with anything unnecessary, and I let the idea go.
"How bad is it?" I asked.
The words came out rough, my voice hoarse and unfamiliar. I hated the sound of it, but I hated the uncertainty more. I needed to know.
I could feel the bandages wrapped tightly around my body, the weight of them pressing down on me, but sensation beyond that was unreliable. My limbs felt distant, barely there, and the lack of feeling only made my anxiety worse.
"Could be worse," Nico replied.
His tone was steady, almost indifferent, but I knew him well enough to hear what he wasn’t saying. It was in his eyes, in the way he looked at me without softening.
He was pissed.
"How bad is it?" I repeated, more firmly this time.
Whatever he felt could wait. I needed the truth. I needed to know how much damage I had done, whether the mistake I made had just consequences—or if it had rewritten the rest of my life.
The embarrassment alone had been unbearable. The thought that it had nearly cost me everything made something twist sharply in my chest.
"It’s pretty bad," he said at last. "But you’ll live."
I held his gaze, searching for anything more, and he leaned back slightly in his chair, tilting his head as if considering how much to give me.
"You had surgery. Internal bleeding. Two broken ribs," he continued. "It’ll take a while before you can walk properly, but your legs are mostly fine."
I felt my chest loosen slightly, just enough for a breath to come easier.
"Your left arm, though..." he paused.
Everything in me stilled.
"...you landed on it when you jumped. A clean break. It’ll take time, but it should fully recover."
I closed my eyes, exhaling slowly.
It wasn’t good. It wasn’t even close to good. But it could have been worse. Much worse.
I was alive.
I wasn’t trapped somewhere dark, bleeding out or worse, forced into something I couldn’t fight my way out of. That alone was enough to steady me, even if only a little.
"What about Bianca?" I asked, forcing my thoughts back to the unfinished pieces I had left behind.
"Kade is alive. He’ll live," Nico said.
There was something in the way he said it, something that suggested there was more, but I didn’t press. I couldn’t—not right now.
Silence settled between us, heavy but not empty.
Nico shifted slightly, crossing one leg over the other as he leaned against his arm, watching me without speaking.
Judging me.
"I messed up," I said eventually. "It won’t happen again."
The promise felt necessary, even if I wasn’t sure it meant anything to him.
He scoffed.
Not even subtle about it.
"I was just—" I started, but he cut me off before I could finish.
"You will make more mistakes, Carmen," he said sharply. "It’s your nature. Just as it’s in mine to make less."
The words landed harder than they should have.
I glared at him, ignoring the strain it caused.
"I learn from my mistakes," I shot back. "I’m sure you’ve had plenty of time to learn from yours."
He was older than me. More experienced. That didn’t make him infallible, no matter how much he seemed to believe otherwise.
My voice remained low, rough, lacking the strength I wished it had. I wanted to push harder, to match his tone, but my body refused to support the effort.
I let out a quiet sigh instead, the fight draining out of me before it could properly begin.
"What’s the next plan?" I asked.
Because that was what mattered now.
We were under attack. That much was clear. The situation at the hospital, the charges, the setup—it wasn’t something that would resolve itself. We needed to act.
Nico moved then, slowly rising from his chair. He placed the book aside, a bookmark marking his place in a way that confirmed what I already suspected—he had been sitting there for a long time.
Watching. Waiting.
He stepped closer to the bed, stopping near the edge, close enough now that the distance between us felt deliberate rather than incidental.
"The plan," he began, his voice measured, "is for you to rest and recover."
My eyes widened.
"Until you’re able to stand on your own and actually work," he continued, "you will do nothing else."
The words hit harder than anything he had said before.
I knew exactly what he was doing.
He was cutting me out.
And the worst part was, I understood why. I knew I had given him a reason. But understanding it didn’t make it easier to accept.
"What does walking have to do with anything?" I asked, frustration pushing through despite the exhaustion weighing me down. "I can still think. I can still plan. You don’t need my legs for that."
But even as I said it, I could see it in his face.
This wasn’t a discussion.
This was a decision.
And for now, whether I liked it or not, I was no longer part of the fight.
