The rain beat down in torrents, turning the city streets into rivers of grime. Neon signs flickered through the haze, casting eerie glows on the soaked pavement. Max sat in the dimly lit hospital room, staring at the rain-slicked window. The rhythmic beeping of the machines was a constant reminder of his mortality, but his thoughts were far from the sterile walls and antiseptic smell.
Vivian had left to gather the rest of the team, leaving Max to wrestle with his thoughts. Marcus's betrayal gnawed at him, a festering wound that refused to heal. He clenched his fists, feeling the sharp pain from the IV in his arm. Pain was good; it kept him grounded, focused. He had to be strong—for Claire, for Elena, for the city that was counting on him.
The door creaked open, and Elena slipped in, her eyes scanning the room before locking onto Max. She looked tired, shadows etched beneath her eyes, but there was a fire in her gaze that told Max she was ready for the fight ahead.
