The air smelled faintly of antiseptic—clean, sharp, and clinical. Fluorescent lights buzzed softly overhead, casting a pale glow that made everything look too white and sterile. Long, quiet halls stretched in every direction, the polished floors echoing each hurried footstep. Occasionally, the stillness was broken by the distant beeping of machines or the shuffle of nurses' shoes.
Grandfather Ji ran like the ground was falling away beneath him.
His breath came in ragged gasps—too shallow, too fast. His eyes darted wildly, unfocused, searching, fearing. Shoulders hunched and fists clenched, he barreled forward, uncaring of who or what stood in his way.
His legs moved instinctively, pounding the sterile floor with frantic urgency. He stumbled over corners and slipped before regaining his balance.
The call he received from Liu Shan still played back in his mind like a record player on repeat.
He threw the doors open when he reached the room he'd been directed to.
