NICK
The room settled into a heavy, absolute quiet the second the door clicked shut behind Noah.
Outside, the muffled hum of the hospital corridor became nothing more than white noise, leaving only the steady beep of the vitals monitor and the low, continuous hiss of the ventilation system to fill the space.
And Cyan.
He was still sitting flat in the middle of my hospital bed, looking entirely as though he had been cordially invited to do so.
He had his ankles crossed neatly at the edge of the mattress, his head tilted back as he examined the plain acoustic tiles above with the intense, focused attention of an architect conducting an unprompted survey.
Every time he made a small movement, the silver rings on his fingers caught the harsh fluorescent light, clinking softly against each other.
The sheer amount of jewelry he wore functioned as a remarkably loud early warning system.
I stayed exactly where I was by the closed door, watching him.
