Saint Regalia Private Medical Hospital, Northeast Europe.
Set against the wide landmass, the hospital looked more like a luxury resort than a medical facility. Black sedans and quiet electric cars lined the private driveway, guarded by men in suits who didn't smile.
The glass entrance slid open without a sound.
Inside, the temperature shifted—cool, controlled. The scent of sterile air replaced the faint trace of pine from outside. Marble floors stretched ahead, spotless.
A concierge desk stood where most hospitals had a nurse's station, staffed by people who looked more like hotel managers. Past them, the corridors were wide and quiet.
Nurses moved quickly but without urgency. Every wall, every surface designed to go unnoticed—muted tones, soft lights, nothing that might stir anxiety in a patient.
Thalia wasn't a patient.
She just felt like one.
