Sometime later, after assistant Ford finished wrapping up his hand, Aidan was finally alone again. The apartment had fallen into a heavy silence. The soft hum of the city came through the floor-to-ceiling glass wall that looked out over the skyline.
Aidan stood there, motionless, staring at the city lights. His right hand throbbed, wrapped in thick white bandages, a reminder of the glass he had crushed earlier. It stopped bleeding, but the pain was still there, full and stubborn.
He raised his left hand and picked up his phone from the table nearby. His thumb hovered over the screen, ready to type, then stopped. He tried again. Using his non-dominant hand felt clumsy, the movement stiff and frustrating. His thumb slipped, tapping the wrong letters. Annoyed, he let out a short dry laugh and hit the voice message button instead.
Holding his phone up, he spoke with a relaxed tone.
AAA: "Hey, are you awake?"
