Page 67 of Tainted Empire

As we continue our training, my mind races with this new theory. This could be a significant breakthrough, or it could be another dead end. But I won’t know until I dive in.

Chapter 35

Mikhail

The world slowly swims into focus, a blur of white and beeping machines. My mind feels foggy, like I’m emerging from a deep, dark ocean into the light. I try to move, but my body protests with a dull ache.

It takes me a moment to realize where I am – a hospital room.

As my vision clears, I see her – Gabriette. She’s asleep in a chair next to my bed, her hand holding mine. Seeing her here, so close yet so far away in her slumber, brings a rush of emotions. Relief, love, worry – they all mingle into a potent mix that leaves my throat tight.

I try to speak, to call her name, but my voice is a raspy whisper, barely audible. My throat feels dry and sore. “Ma…lyshka,” I manage to croak out, but she doesn’t stir.

Slowly, the memories start to come back to me – the attack, the pain, and then darkness. I realize must have been out for a while, in a coma, probably; but I can’t remember. The thought sends a shiver of fear through me. How long have I been lying here, and what’s happened while I’ve been gone?

I squeeze Gabriette’s hand, trying again. “Malysh…ka,” I say, a bit louder this time.

Her eyes flutter open, and for a moment, she looks disoriented. Then her gaze focuses on me, and her eyes widen in surprise and relief.

“Mikhail!” she exclaims, her voice thick with emotion and I watch as her eyes gloss over.

She looks tired, worn out, but there’s a strength in her eyes that wasn’t there before. It’s clear she’s been through a lot while I’ve been out. The realization hits me hard – I’ve left her to deal with our dangerous world alone.

“How long...?” I ask, my voice trailing off, unsure of what I’m even asking.

“A while,” she says softly, her thumb stroking my cheek. “But you’re back now, that’s all that matters.”

I try to sit up, but my body feels weak. Gabriette gently pushes me back down. “Easy, you need to rest. You’ve been through a lot.”

The concern in her voice, the protective way she touches me, it all speaks volumes. I’ve always been the one to protect her, to handle the threats and dangers of our world. But now, the roles are reversed.

“What… happened?” I ask, needing to know how she’s been coping, what she’s had to face in my absence.

She takes a deep breath, and I brace myself. “A lot, Mikhail. There’s so much to tell you. We’ll talk when you’re stronger.”

As she speaks, I realize how much I rely on her, how much I need her. She’s not just my partner; she’s my equal, my strength when I have none.

Drifting in and out of consciousness is like being caught in a relentless tide, pulling me under only to throw me back to the surface for brief moments of lucidity. Each time I wake, snippets of conversations reach my ears, voices blending in a confusing cacophony that makes little sense.

I try to cling to the words, to understand, but they slip away as quickly as they come, leaving me with more questions than answers.

Pain is a constant companion, a dull, throbbing reminder of my body’s betrayal. It’s frustrating as hell.

One moment, I’m Mikhail Baranov, the man who commands respect and fear in equal measure; the next, I’m reduced to this – a helpless patient, dependent on others for everything.

The confusion is almost worse than the pain. What the fuck happened? How long have I been out? These questions circle in my mind, but the answers remain just out of reach, obscured by the fog that envelops my thoughts.

When I finally come to, really come to, I hear Gabriette’s voice in the room. She’s talking to my father and what sounds like Alexei, her tone commanding, confident.

The sound of her taking charge, making arrangements – it’s fucking music to my ears.

“...security has been doubled at the penthouse,” I hear Alexei’s voice, steady and serious. “We can’t take any more risks, especially now.”

“And the investigation into the attack? Any leads on Berlin?” That’s my queen, her voice seems so different. Cold, detached. What the hell has happened?

“We’re following a few,” another voice chimes in, possibly one of my men. “But it’s tricky. Whoever did this covered their tracks well.”

I try to focus, to cling to the threads of the conversation, but my mind is a foggy maze, each thought slipping away as quickly as it forms.