After finishing everything that needed to be handled, Aron found himself standing in front of a hospital he had hoped to never return to, at least, not for the same reason.
But here he was again.
The building felt colder this time. He walked the familiar halls with a weight in his chest, eventually stepping into the room where Max lay unconscious. The boy looked pale, bruised, but stable. Doctors and nurses had already patched up his wounds and cleaned the blood from his skin. He looked better, but still far too broken for someone his age.
The staff had reassured Aron earlier.
They said Max was just sleeping. His vitals were stable, there was no internal damage, and he wasn't in any immediate danger. But from what they could tell, the kid had pushed himself hard, far beyond his limits.
He must've been running on sheer willpower until his body finally gave out.
Aron stood silently for a moment, staring at the sleeping figure.
