Chapter 116 -
The medical room was white in that harsh, over-lit way hospitals always were. Cold. Not just the temperature, but the feeling of it. Machines hummed, beeped, and gurgled steadily. Clear tubes ran from hanging IV bags into Leo’s arm, the pale fluid dripping slowly. His chest rose and fell in slow, measured breaths, but every rise felt like a victory.
Nia hadn’t moved from the chair beside him since she’d arrived. Her knees ached, her back stiff, but she didn’t care. She kept her hand over his, his fingers brushing the thin hospital blanket as if her presence alone could anchor him.
Christian stood near the window, arms crossed, his gaze fixed on the driveway below. Every shadow on the asphalt made him flinch; every passing car drew his eyes like a magnet. Micheal leaned against the wall near the door, a coffee cup in his hand, his fingers tapping an erratic rhythm. His eyes were red-rimmed and tired. No one had slept well in days.
The doctor had been through earlier. He’d given the report. Leo would live. The bullet had missed his lung by two inches. Two inches. Nia kept staring at the bandage, imagining what would have happened if it had been even slightly higher. She swallowed hard. Two inches closer and she’d be sitting beside a body instead of a man who, despite everything, was still here.
Christian finally broke the silence, his voice low and tight. “They knew we were coming.”
Micheal straightened, sipping his coffee with more force than necessary. “The traitor?”
“Victor only knew about the convoy routes,” Christian said, jaw flexing. “This… this was something else. Tactical. Someone positioned themselves knowing exactly how we’d move.” He let the words hang. “Someone was in that planning room.”
Nia’s stomach twisted. She looked from Christian to Micheal. Then back to the bed. “You think… another one?”
Christian didn’t hesitate. “I know there is.”
The subtle shuffle of sheets drew their attention. Leo’s eyes cracked open, slow and deliberate. He blinked, focusing first on Nia, then Christian. The pale light caught the dark circles under his eyes. He looked exhausted, but there was steel there too.
“How bad?” His voice was rough, hoarse, like he hadn’t spoken in hours.
“Bad enough,” Christian said. “You lost a lot of blood. They’re keeping you here tonight. No moving, no trying to fight.”
Leo tried to push himself upright and immediately winced, a sharp exhale escaping him. He sank back.
“Don’t,” Nia whispered. “Just rest. Please.”
His eyes found hers again. “How long was I out?”
“A few hours. Nothing permanent.”
He blinked slowly, the memory of the raid creeping back. “The raid?”
“You need rest first. We'll talk later.” Nia said firmly. Christian nodded in agreement.
Leo frowned, the muscles in his jaw tight. A thin line of frustration flickered across his face, but eventually, he gave a small nod. He stayed there, chest heaving slightly with each breath, eyes staring at the ceiling, imagining the streets, the rooftops, the bullet that had grazed him.
Night fell outside, dark and quiet except for the hum of machines. Christian and Micheal had left, leaving Nia to the quiet vigil of the chair. She dozed in small bursts, waking every time a monitor beeped differently. Her fingers twitched against his hand. Every rise and fall of his chest felt like a lifeline. She counted the seconds between breaths like a fragile rhythm she couldn’t afford to break.
By dawn, the door opened quietly. Rosa stepped in carrying a small tray containing tea, bread, and a thin bowl of soup.
“You need to eat,” she said softly, placing it on the small table beside the bed.
“I’m not hungry,” Nia murmured, though she knew the words weren’t for herself.
“Doesn’t matter. Just eat.” Rosa’s eyes, soft but firm, found Nia’s. “You’re here. That’s enough, but now you need strength.”
Nia wrapped her hands around the warm cup of tea. She let the heat seep into her fingers, grounding her. Rosa lingered, glancing at Leo, at the bandages, at the pale rise and fall of his chest.
“He’ll be okay,” Rosa said gently, almost like she was convincing herself. “He’s strong. Always has been.”
“I know,” Nia whispered.
“Then stop looking at him like he’s already gone,” Rosa said firmly, shaking her head slightly. “He’s here. He’s alive. That’s what matters.”
Nia blinked, swallowing hard. She took a slow sip of tea, trying to draw strength from it. Rosa squeezed her shoulder once, a silent reassurance, and left.
By midday, Leo stirred again. His eyes were clearer this time. He blinked, taking in the machines, the bandages, Nia in the chair, the stillness around him.
“You’re still here,” he said, voice rasping but steady.
“Told you I would be,” she said.
He tried to push himself upright again. Pain shot across his ribs, but he steadied himself. “Help me up.”
“Leo—”
“I need to walk. Sitting here won’t fix anything.”
Her hands went to his arm. Tentatively, she offered it, and he took it, leaning heavily as he pulled himself to his feet. For a heartbeat, he swayed, then he tightened his grip, and found his balance.
They moved slowly to the window. Outside, the guards patrolled, the gates shut tight.
“How many?” he asked quietly.
“Six,” Nia said.
His jaw flexed. “Names?”
“They didn’t tell me.”
He nodded once, staring at the ground outside.
“This is my fault,” he said finally.
“No,” Nia said quickly.
“I planned the raid, chose the team, and walked them straight into a trap.”
“You didn’t know.”
“I should have,” he murmured. “Santiago’s been two steps ahead since the beginning. I keep reacting. He keeps winning.”
Nia faced him fully. “Then stop reacting. Change the game. Do something he doesn’t expect.”
He studied her. Her words hung in the room in a firm, soft, and demanding way.
“Like what?” he asked.
“I don’t know. I’m not the strategist,” she said with a shrug. “But you are. So figure it out.”
Leo’s eyes narrowed slightly, something subtle shifting. He leaned back against the pillows, quiet for a long moment.
“Victor,” he said finally, voice low, deliberate. “The traitor we caught.”
“What about him?”
“He’s alive. Still in holding. We use him. Feed him false info. Let it pass on. See who’s working with him. Find them before they find us.”
“You think it’ll work?”
“It’s better than sitting around, waiting for the next ambush.”
He sank back against the pillow, fatigue settling in his limbs like lead.
Nia sat beside him, hand still in his. “Get some rest. You can play chess tomorrow.”
He gave a faint and tired twitch of a smile. “Bossy.”
“Someone has to be,” she said quietly.