Victor's POV

Elena's needle pierced the skin along my ribs with merciless precision. I kept my eyes fixed on the peeling wall in front of me. The smell of alcohol in this makeshift clinic was preferable to the stench of metal and sewage I'd come from.

"If I have to stitch you up one more time this week, you're going to turn into a patchwork quilt," she said, her voice hoarse with exhaustion. "Or a neatly stitched corpse."

"I'll be more careful," I grunted, feeling the tug of the thread.