A slow, steady beeping echoed in the room.
Each note a gentle reminder:
You're still alive.
Luca's eyelids fluttered open.
Blinding white ceiling. Cold air. A dull ache pressed into every fiber of his body—throbbing, relentless, but distant. Like pain submerged underwater.
He tried to move.
His body screamed in protest.
Where… am I?
Then came a voice—quiet, cold, and unmistakably familiar—from beside him.
"Don't move. You're in the hospital."
Luca shifted his gaze slowly to the side. There, on the bed next to his, was Vincent. Propped up slightly against a pillow, his arms in slings and a bandage covering his brow.
Even now, his eyes were sharp. Focused.
Luca tried to speak—but his throat burned. Only a raspy exhale escaped his lips.
Before he could try again, another voice chimed in—this one far too cheerful for the setting:
"Ohh! You're finally awake, brother-in-law!"
Luca turned his head to the other side, wincing from the effort.
