CHAPTER 129: Hell in Berlin-22 END

CHAPTER 129: Hell in Berlin-22 END

Night had fallen completely over Munich. The hallway lights were a golden thread filtering through the crack under the door; inside, the silence was only interrupted by the soft beep of the monitor and the scrape of the spoon against the plate. Enid held a tray with warm food; her movements were careful, almost ceremonial. Phoenix lay bandaged, his breathing still heavy, his trembling hands resting on the sheet.

"Eat a little," Enid said softly, offering him the spoon. "It won't hurt you. It's soup. Nothing fancy, but warm."

He accepted with effort. Every spoonful hurt, but the temperature of the broth was an anchor against the cold inside him. Enid spoke to him quietly about trivial things: the rain in Munich, a note she'd read about a concert that would now be impossible, the silly complaint that the hospital coffee was too weak. She spoke to fill the silence, to let the calm come in drops.

Phoenix looked at her with sunken eyes. He swallowed slowly and, after finishing a spoonful, left the spoon on the edge of the plate and spoke, barely audible.

"What do we know about Darem? About Viktor?" he said, his voice broken. "Where are they?"

Enid closed her eyes for a second before answering; her hand tensed momentarily on his, like someone holding back a spring.

"I don't want to talk about that now," she replied firmly. "Rest. You need to sleep."

He looked at her with a mixture of fatigue and fire in his gaze. The bandages didn't hide the intensity burning behind his eyelids. He began to tremble: not from the cold, but from the contained fury running through his body.

"No," he responded, louder, and the word came out harsh. "I'm not going to stay here silent while they... While those bastards are still alive."

Phoenix's tone changed. The hospital murmur faded away; the room grew small around his oath.

"I'm going to find them," he said, fixing his gaze on Enid. "I'm going to find them. Darem, Viktor… and all those who have played with the blood of innocent people. I'm going to tear away everything they have left. I'm going to make them pay for every name, for every face that slips through my hands."

Enid pressed her lips together. She tried to regain the thread of mundane conversation, but his fury pushed her back.

"Phoenix, calm down. You can't move like this," her voice was urgent and soft at once. "You're injured, you need to recover. I won't let you get yourself killed for an impulsive revenge."

He looked at her, and for a moment his voice split in two: pain and determination mixed.

"How do you expect me to calm down?" he whispered. "With what? With silence? With the idea that they keep laughing and organizing their plan? No. I'm going to find them. I will make them pay. If there's justice in this world, it will be by my hands if necessary."

The words came in a cascade, rushed. His eyes, bloodshot from exhaustion and rage, shone with a primitive violence.

"I'm going to find them," he repeated, now in a hoarse voice, like a promise consuming his insides. "I'm going to find them and I'm going to murder them. I'm going to tear away their last drop of peace. I will make them feel an eternal night. I swear vengeance… I swear I won't stop until I see them fall."

Enid put down the spoon and looked him straight in the eye. Her hand rested on Phoenix's forehead, damp with fever, and then she squeezed his palm as if trying to hold back an imminent danger.

"I promise you I won't let you go now," Enid said in a low, contained voice. "I won't let you go until you can stand on your own two feet. If what you want is justice, we'll do it with a clear head. I'll find you allies. I'll prepare you. But I won't let you leave like this; I won't let you die for something we can plan and resolve carefully."

Phoenix looked at her, his breathing agitated, his hands gripping the sheet until his knuckles turned white. Rage vibrated in every syllable.

"I don't want lukewarm promises," he murmured. "I want you to understand: it's them or me. Either they make the final move… or I do. And if I can't be the one, then let it all burn."

Enid didn't respond immediately. Her eyes reflected the conflict: between comfort and complicity, between strategy and the fire of the man before her. Finally, she placed the spoon back on the tray and took his hand, squeezing it so hard that Phoenix felt her lip tremble.

"Then get ready," she said quietly. "When you're ready, you won't be alone."

Phoenix squeezed Enid's hand with the strength of one swearing a consuming oath. The blood on his lip tasted of iron, and his throat filled with images that wouldn't fade: tunnels, screams, the dust that carried away names.

"I swear," Phoenix repeated, like a dark echo. "I'm going to find them. I'm going to kill them."