Micah offered a quiet farewell to both Patric and Ilyas, his voice measured and controlled despite the turbulence stirring within him, before turning to follow after Darcy, who had already begun making his way down the corridor toward the hospital cafeteria. His footsteps fell into rhythm behind him, neither hurried nor slow, as though he were carefully maintaining a fragile sense of composure that threatened to unravel at any given moment.
The hour was well past midnight. It was nearing three in the morning, a time when the world beyond the hospital walls had long since fallen into silence. Outside, the streets would be empty, the glow of storefronts extinguished, and every nearby restaurant or catering service shuttered until daylight returned. The usual bustle of life had faded entirely, leaving only the sterile, artificial stillness of the hospital to fill the void.
