The atmosphere within the private hospital carried a peculiar stillness, one that pressed down upon every individual present with an almost suffocating weight. Inside, aside from Darcy and Micah, several additional figures had gathered, Patric Harper, Willow, and Jacob, each drawn there by urgency, concern, and an unshakable sense of dread.
Patric, in particular, appeared as though he had been completely undone.
The moment he stumbled into the room, it was immediately evident that he had neither taken the time to compose himself nor properly processed what he had been told. His hair was disordered, his clothing creased and carelessly worn, as though he had thrown them on in a desperate rush. His breathing came unevenly, his chest rising and falling with shallow, erratic movements that betrayed his inner turmoil.
Micah's gaze lingered upon him, silently observing as Patric moved forward with unsteady steps, his entire being seemingly pulled toward the hospital bed. Toward Ilyas.
