111. No More Sacrificing Myself.

Angel.

I woke up pissed off. I was groggy. My tongue was as dry as sandpaper. And the sterile scent of disinfectant crawled up my nose and sank into my skull.

The first thought that sliced through my mind was that, ‘I told the damn nurse not to sedate me.’

My second thought was, ‘What the actual fuck?’

I opened one eye at first, then the other. Squinting against the hospital lights—those awful, pale rectangles that made everything look dead.

My limbs felt heavy. My back ached. And my shoulder throbbed with a distant pulse that told me I was floating somewhere between numb and pain.

My mouth opened, but all that came out was a groan. I closed my eyes again, trying to think.

Had I said anything? Had they gotten to me while I was doped up and vulnerable? Had I spilled secrets I couldn’t claw back?

Frantic, I flexed my wrists. There were no cuffs. I turned my head toward the door. No agents stationed like sentries outside.

Okay, I breathed. Okay. That’s good. That meant no red flags, no