Chapter 128
~ Clinton ~
After the doctor at Brooklyn General patched me up and handed over a bottle of prescription painkillers, he warned me sternly to go straight home and get some real rest—no screens, no stress, just sleep. The kind of advice that sounded simple on paper but felt impossible the moment I stepped back into my apartment. The door clicked shut behind me like a prison gate, and instead of collapsing into bed, I paced the living room like a caged animal, every shadow in the corners making my pulse spike. Sleep? There was no chance of that. Not after yesterday. The events replayed in my head on an endless, brutal loop—the parking lot ambush, the cold press of the gun against my skull, the gravelly voice promising death if I didn't back off. By the time dawn crept through the blinds the next morning, I still hadn't closed my eyes for more than a few fitful minutes. The painkillers dulled the throbbing in my head but did nothing to quiet the storm raging inside it.
