Roughly an hour had passed since Ronan woke. Most of it went to forcing his breathing steady and sorting through the mess in his head.
Every answer he reached felt wrong, like something a madman would say out loud, but the things he had already lived through made denial pointless now.
The room smelled of old linen and something sharper, like metal left in water too long. Light from the narrow window cut across the floor in a dull stripe.
A nurse came in at some point. Late twenties, plain white cloth under a gray apron that had seen better days.
She noticed he was awake and the surprise showed for a breath before it vanished. She crossed the room without a word and started her checks.
First the glass container by the bed, then his wrist for the pulse, then his eyes with a small lamp that stung. Her palm, cold and dry, pressed against his forehead for a few seconds like she was following a list she had memorized. No questions.
No small talk. Just the soft sounds of her movements and the faint creak of the floorboards. The quiet pressed on him until his shoulders tightened on their own. When she finished she left fast, the door clicking shut behind her. Ronan remained confused by her actions and also because he didn't know who that was at all.
A few minutes later it opened again. Three people this time. Ronan knew two of them already—the older man and the younger one from before.
The older carried a curved pipe, smoke still curling from the bowl. His black coat sat straight on his frame and the hat brim threw shadow over his eyes.
He moved to the window without hurry. The younger stayed by the door, arms folded, watching. The third was new: an old woman in a simple gray dress, white hair pulled back tight. Wrinkles cut deep across her face, but it was her stare that caught him. She did not blink. Not once. The air in the room seemed to thicken.
Ronan pushed himself a little straighter against the pillows. Three sets of eyes turned to him at the same time. His pulse jumped hard under his ribs.
The older man tapped the pipe against the windowsill until the embers died, then spoke. The words were the same strange tongue from before, but this time they landed clear.
"How are you feeling, Mister Percy Valemont?"
Ronan waited a moment. "Better than before."
The man studied him, then gave a short nod. "Stable enough, then. A few questions, if you can manage."
Ronan felt the weight of it settle. Lying would not work here. Percy's memories were thin on this part of the night, and these people carried themselves like they had heard every kind of story already.
Half-truths would show. He chose what felt safest—truth where it could be given, silence where it could not.
"No trouble," he said. "I'll answer what I can."
The older man took the chair near the bed. "June eighth. Yesterday evening. Where were you?"
Ronan let a few seconds pass like he was digging through his thoughts. He had already turned Percy's memories over twice before they arrived, but answering too quick would look off. So he kept his face thoughtful.
"Northern end of Shrewsbury Street. Near the red-light houses."
The man nodded once. "That is not your usual way home. Why that route?"
"I stopped at the Shrewsbury Drunkard first. I go there when the day runs long. Not much of a drinker, but regular enough. After, I started back the normal way until I saw a group of men arguing outside one of the side alleys, i recognise one of them to be the local gangsters a violent one at that .
Voices were rising and would perhaps raise arms against each other. So I turned off before it turned into something worse and cut through toward the red light district instead of the old road ."
He paused, feeling the next part sit heavy. A faint warmth crept up his neck. "Figured there was no harm in stopping by. Paid for company.
Her name was Ellie, I think. We did not speak much after that. Spent the night. That is the last clear thing I have. I had been drinking pretty heavy yesterday." Not to mention the headache i felt for no reason.
The younger man by the door lifted one brow but stayed quiet. The older kept his eyes on Ronan, calm and steady.
Then he looked down at the papers in the leather case resting on his knee. The room stayed still except for the faint tick of something in the wall. After a stretch of quiet he glanced up again.
"Nothing more?"
Ronan shook his head. "That is all."
"Very well." The man stood, pipe now cold in his hand, and offered it. Ronan took it after a short hesitation. The grip was firm, dry.
"Apologies for the interruption during your rest," the man said. "Thank you for the answers. It would help if you kept what happened to yourself until we know more. The situation is still unsettled."
"It is fine," Ronan answered. "I can keep quiet."
The older man gave another small nod, then turned. The three of them left together, the door closing with a solid sound. Ronan stayed upright on the bed, listening to their footsteps fade down the hall.
Only when he saw them cross the street through the window, coats moving in the gray light, did the tight feeling in his chest ease by a fraction. The old woman's stare stayed with him longest, even after she was gone.
He let his shoulders drop a little and breathed out slow through his nose, the room suddenly larger and emptier than before.
Now he needed to think about his own situation more thoroughly not about the current one , but about what he would have to do for the future as Percy.