The city breathed a sigh of relief as the rain subsided, but Max Hastings' world remained shrouded in a relentless fog. The hospital room was dimly lit, a single bulb casting long shadows that danced across the walls. Max lay on the bed, his side bandaged, the pain a constant reminder of his brush with death. The sterile smell of antiseptic filled his nostrils, mixing with the distant hum of machines.
Angela sat beside him, her face pale and drawn. She hadn't left his side since they brought him in, her presence a stubborn refusal to let him face the darkness alone. Max stirred, groaning as the pain jolted him awake.
"Angela," he rasped, his voice dry and cracked. "What happened?"
Angela leaned in, her eyes softening. "You took a bullet, Max. But we got Drake. The city's breathing easier tonight, thanks to you."
Max tried to sit up, wincing as the pain flared. Angela placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, urging him to lie back.
