Chapter 2 (Recrafted)
Two men lay on the floor.
Christian stood in the doorway, not breathing, not thinking — just counting.
No movement. No sound. One chair overturned. The bed shoved sideways like it had tried to escape.
This wasn't an accident.
This wasn't security.
He backed away slowly, careful not to touch anything, careful not to leave anything behind. The hallway outside was empty. Too empty.
Apartment 477.
The thought came uninvited, sharp and specific. That was where it started. The first time he noticed someone matching his pace. The first time a reflection lingered too long in a window.
He didn't know why that number mattered now — only that it did.
Christian walked.
Not fast. Not slow. The kind of pace that didn't attract attention. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, indifferent. Machines beeped behind closed doors like nothing had changed.
At the security desk, he nodded once.
The guard nodded back.
Christian didn't stop. He didn't mention the room. Didn't mention the bodies. He told himself he'd be gone before anyone asked why Room H was suddenly quiet.
The automatic doors slid open.
Cold air hit his face.
Outside, the street looked normal. Cars passed. Someone laughed too loudly near the entrance. The hospital loomed behind him, still pretending to be a place where rules applied.
Christian stepped off the curb.
A car idled across the street, angled slightly wrong.
The windshield was cracked.
The driver-side window rolled down.