He watched the street below, half-listening to the squawk of seagulls tearing at a trash heap. A hazy flash of memory—laughter, strobe lights, a girl with glitter on her cheek—flickered and vanished. He didn’t mind the holes in his recollection. Forgetting was part of the charm. Until the pain hit.
It started like a pinch, then sharpened into something that stole his breath. Vincent clutched his side and doubled over, forehead damp. He groaned, struggling to stay still as the pain bloomed under his ribs. Minutes passed before he could sit upright. His hands trembled. His instincts finally kicked in.