Dexter felt no urge to resist his boss—this wasn't the first time he'd been pressured into signing something. Besides, he had nowhere else to be, and a part of him was slowly accepting his fate.
A week had passed, and he was still in the hospital—but somehow, his injuries kept getting worse.
According to the doctors, the injuries he sustained from the fall alone weren't enough to cause such severe damage—at least, not to the best of their knowledge.
This led him to believe he had somehow brought Daylan's wounds into reality, further reinforcing the idea that he had truly lived as Daylan. But even if he did recover, there was nothing he could do about it.
He coughed up blood uncontrollably, his vision blurring to the point where he was nearly blind. It felt like he was finally getting what he had secretly wanted—death.
But somehow, the doctors said he would survive, but at a cost. The news irritated him, yet, once again, there was nothing he could do.
