Morning arrived without softness.
The hospital light was pale and unforgiving, slipping through the half-drawn blinds and settling on white walls that had witnessed too much fear to ever feel clean. The quiet was deceptive, broken only by the rhythmic beeping of machines and the faint murmur of staff moving through corridors that never truly slept. Silas had rested only a few hours, not enough to restore strength, not enough to erase the dull ache that lingered beneath his skin. His body lay still, but the surrounding atmosphere was heavy, as though the room itself was holding its breath.
Helen Williams arrived before the sun had fully climbed.
