When I close my eyes, I still see red.

I would’ve laughed. If you’d come up to me twenty years ago, and told me I would end up being fed through a tube on a grimy ward, I would’ve have laughed in your face.

Or shot you. I suppose it would’ve depended on my mood.

How did it come to this? I was the best of the best, Agent Triple-A, on account of my record-breaking mission success rate as a junior recruit. Of course they don’t tell you what happens when you’re past prime.

See, it’s not quite like the movies. Wild, daring young men who live like there’s no tomorrow, because there might not be, don’t turn into distinguished gentlemen with twinkling eyes and a comfortable retirement package.

They burn out. And then they end up here.

Some things you can never forget. Rooftop shoot-outs with the Russians. Infiltration missions in the White House. Saving Grace’s life. Twice.

And now, as if a nightmarish joke, it’s her standing over me.

‘Who needs saving now then, lover? Who needs saving now?’