Chapter 522

When Vincent Harris came to, both arms felt like lead—every tiny movement sent a sharp jolt through him that left him in a cold sweat. He forced his eyes open, the first thing catching his blurry gaze was the elaborate canopy overhead. Flowers—loads of them, wild and exotic passionflowers, embroidered all over in gaudy patterns that damn near made his head spin. The room was still simple, no doubt, but at least it was clean, almost too clean. That weird sense of sterility grounded him. Looking down, he realized his clothes had been changed at some point. A military green blanket was pulled over his chest, smelling faintly of laundry detergent—kind of jarring in its familiarity. A creak broke the silence. His attention snapped to the door just as it swung open. The moment he saw Ava Quarles step in, his pupils shrank. That split second triggered a surge of pain in his shoulder, like the whole dislocated joint had violently snapped back in. "What are you trying to do?" His voice was hoar