Light.
That was the first thing she felt not warmth, not pain just light pressing against her eyelids like a memory that refused to fade.
The world around her was silent, too silent, except for the rhythmic beeping somewhere nearby. The air smelled of disinfectant and metal. When she tried to move, fire seared through her side, and a choked gasp escaped her lips.
"She's awake."
The voice came from somewhere close a man's voice, smooth, calm, clinical.
Adora's eyes fluttered open. The ceiling above her was white, cracked at the edges. Tubes ran from her arm, and her torso was wrapped tight in bandages. The pain was sharp enough to make her dizzy.
"Where… am I?" she whispered, her throat raw.
"You're safe," the voice said.
A figure stepped into view tall, dark hair slicked back, eyes like smoke. He wore no medical coat, but his movements were too precise for anyone ordinary.
"Who are you?" she asked.
He smiled faintly. "Someone who found you before the police did."
Adora's heartbeat quickened. "Marco where's Marco?"
The man tilted his head, studying her. "You really don't know, do you?"
"What do you mean?"
"He thinks you're dead."
The words hit harder than the bullet had. She froze, staring at him. "Dead?"
He nodded slowly. "Your pulse had stopped when he carried you out of the cathedral. The rain masked the faintest breath that came after. By the time we reached you, he was gone and the city was already burning in his wake."
Her mind spun. "Who are you?"
"My name is Dr. Elias Varon," he said. "I used to work for Marco Deluca. Until I realized his empire was killing everything it touched."
Adora's eyes narrowed. "So you saved me to get back at him?"
"No," Elias said softly. "I saved you because I want to end him. And you, Adora, are the only one who can."
She shook her head weakly. "You don't understand. He's not"
"He's exactly what I understand," Elias interrupted. "You think you can heal him. You think love will make him human again. But he's already gone too far. Do you know how many bodies fell the night he thought you died?"
Her lips trembled. "How many?"
"Seventeen. Two warehouses. A police convoy. He's unraveling. And the city's watching."
Tears stung her eyes. "He's hurting."
"He's destroying," Elias corrected. "And soon he'll destroy himself. Unless someone stops him."
She turned her face away, her chest tightening. The weight of her own heartbeat felt unbearable.
"I can't just abandon him."
"You don't have to," Elias said quietly. "You just have to face what he's become."
He walked toward the window. Outside, dawn was bleeding into the skyline soft pink against the gray of New York's towers.
"Rest for now," he said. "You'll need your strength. When you're ready, I'll show you what he's done."
He left the room, the door closing behind him with a hollow click.
Adora stared at the ceiling, her mind drowning in the storm of memory the rain, the blood, Marco's voice whispering her name.
She touched her bandaged side and whispered, "I'm still here."
And somewhere across the city, Marco's gun smoked in his hand, as if he'd heard her ghost.