Careless—because he hadn’t expected to emerge from those shadows again. Not really, not this time. The clínica had been his last hope, and to pursue it, he had cut all ties to his family, and his family’s agents. He’d gone underground with all the determination he could manage—so far underground that he didn’t need eyes anymore, the kind of deep dark underground that was the functional equivalent of a grave. The hope was just an obligatory long shot. In reality, he’d been quietly killing off the last few weeks of lease on his worn-out carcass, before the arrival of the final wrecking ball.