The scent of antiseptic clings to the air. The quiet beep of the heart monitor is steady but unnervingly loud in the silence.
Lewis Jenkins lies awake in bed, propped up by pillows, his skin pale beneath the harsh fluorescent lights.
His eyes stare at nothing—fixed on the far wall, where the faint morning sunlight peeks through the blinds.
The door creaks open.
Cassandra bursts in, her heels clacking on the floor, her hair slightly disheveled, worry carved deep into her brow.
"Lewis!"
Her purse slips from her arm as she rushes to his bedside. Her breath catches when she sees him—fragile, not the commanding figure she's used to. She reaches for his hand.
"God… I came as fast as I could. Why didn't anyone call me earlier?"
Lewis forces a weak smile.
"You're here now. That's enough."
But his voice is hoarse, thin. He looks away too quickly.
Cassandra glances around the room.
"Where's Yusuf? They told me he brought you here."
