The hum of machines filled the sterile room, a rhythm of life sustained by wires and tubes. The scent of antiseptic hung thick, burning the man's nose as consciousness crept back in for the first time in weeks. His eyelids fluttered, heavy as stone, before dragging open.
Blinding light. White ceilings. Shadows of figures moving quickly around him.
"He's awake," a nurse whispered, disbelief clinging to her voice. "He's really awake."
The doctors rushed in, their coats brushing against one another in the narrow space. Hands pressed to his wrist, checked his pulse, adjusted his IVs.
"Mr. " one of them caught himself, realizing the man's identity wasn't supposed to be spoken here. "You're safe. You've made it through the worst."
The man's throat was dry, raw, like sandpaper. He tried to speak but only a hoarse rasp emerged. "Where… am I?"
