Jackson woke slowly, pain dragging him back into consciousness before his eyes had even fully opened.
His ribs felt tight beneath the bandages wrapped around his torso. Heat pulsed through the wound underneath them, sharp enough that the moment he shifted, he sucked air through his teeth.
The room smelled sterile.
Not clean.
Sterile.
Like somebody had tried too hard to wash blood out of it.
For a few seconds, his mind stayed blank.
Then memory came back ugly.
The quarters.
Bill.
Adrian.
Cherie standing there while everything went to hell.
Jackson stared at the ceiling silently.
The light above him buzzed faintly.
He turned his head slightly.
Cherie stood near the doorway with her arms folded tight across herself. She looked exhausted. More than exhausted. Like she hadn't slept since it happened.
The moment their eyes met, she looked away.
Jackson's stare lingered on her.
Not anger.
Something colder.
