Chapter 89 The Syndicate's Puppet

• The hospital room hummed with the sterile whir of machines, their rhythmic beeps a metronome counting down the seconds until everything unraveled. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, bleaching the walls to a lifeless white.
• The air reeked of antiseptic and regret, a cocktail that clawed at the back of my throat. I shifted in the stiff-backed chair, the IV line tugging at my arm, and stared at the empty bed beside mine.
• Solo’s bed.