Chapter 10 · Stitching the Beast

His blood was still warm on my hands when Gia shoved the suture kit hard against my chest.

"Doctor’s pinned down on the lake road," she snapped. "Landlines are cut. You’re what we’ve got."

"I’m an accountant."

"You’ve got steady hands. Move."

Dominic was laid out on the butcher-block island like a body dumped off a truck. Someone had sliced his shirt open from collar to hem. The cut under his ribs was deep, jagged, and pumping dark red no matter how hard Enzo shoved towels into the meat of it.

Ten minutes ago, he’d gone dead-weight in my arms in the hallway. Right after I whispered the one word I shouldn't have.

*Stay.*

I didn’t know if he’d heard it. I didn't know which answer terrified me more.

"Needle," I said.

Gia slapped it into my palm. Curved. Brutal. Tiny. The black suture thread reeked of iodine and iron.

"Hold the light," I told her.

"Mara—"

"Hold. The light."

She clicked the halogen on.