The hallway stretched ahead, long and sterile, the lights above humming gently.
Billy lay on the moving bed, covered in a pale blue sheet, his arms resting still at his sides.
The soft wheels rolled quietly beneath him, guided by the nurse who offered a reassuring smile every few feet.
But Billy wasn't looking at the ceiling anymore. He wasn't looking at anything, really.
He was inward.
It's just surgery. People do this every day. They say it might help. That I could remember more. Or not. What if I forget again? What if it works, but I lose what I found in the village?
The rhythm of the cart's motion was oddly calming, like being rocked by invisible waves.
He blinked slowly.
Artur's face flashed across his thoughts — not with clarity, but with emotion.
The sound of his laughter. The feel of his arm curled behind Billy's back beneath the moonlight.
The way he looked the night before Billy left — like the ground had cracked open beneath him.
