Zayne’s POV
Pain is a strange thing.
When it’s sharp, it demands attention. When it settles deep, dull and constant, it becomes background noise—something you acknowledge only when you move the wrong way or breathe too fast.
By the time I leave the hospital, the pain has learned its place.
My arm is strapped tight against my chest, immobilized, wrapped in layers that smell like antiseptic and blood no matter how clean they are. Every step pulls my shoulder. Every breath reminds me my body isn’t whole yet.
That doesn’t stop me. It just slows me enough to think.
Rico doesn’t come with me. That’s deliberate.
Family doesn’t need to know. Security my mom stationed by the door thinks I’m resting. The nurse thinks I’m using the private consultation room on the lower floor. No one checks th
