Chapter 42. Ethan Returns

Ethan woke to the smell of smoke and bleach.

The room was wrong—too white, too still. He blinked until the ceiling stopped pulsing. A cheap fluorescent tube buzzed overhead, throwing light that made the shadows seem deeper. His throat was dry, the kind of dryness that came from fear, not thirst.

His jacket lay on a chair beside the bed, folded too neatly for comfort. Next to it, a note written in block letters:

PAYMENT SETTLED. DON’T RUN AGAIN.

He sat up slowly. His ribs ached, bandaged under the hospital gown someone had forced onto him. His memories came in flashes—the alley, headlights, a voice saying lesson, not punishment, and the heavy smell of gasoline.

Dominic’s men had let him live. That was the part he didn’t understand.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed. The floor was cold. Outside, the sound of rain echoed off metal—must have been some private clinic, the kind that handled quiet problems for people with money.