Silas and Salvar stood before the door of Patrick's hospital room. The corridor behind them was still and silent, the faint hum of the building's infrastructure was the only sound. Salvar lifted the stolen keycard and swiped it through the reader. The lock clicked open with a soft, mechanical sigh.
They stepped inside. Patrick's head lifted immediately from the pillow, his eyes wide and tense, scanning the two figures silhouetted against the dim hallway light. His body went rigid beneath the thin hospital blanket. For a long, suspended moment, he looked like a man bracing for the worst.
"It's us," Silas said, stepping forward into the pale glow of the bedside monitor.
Patrick exhaled, his whole body sagging with relief. He was propped up in the bed, one leg elevated and wrapped in thick layers of white bandages, an IV drip connected to his arm. His face was pale and drawn with exhaustion, but his eyes were alert, flicking between the two of them with the quick and nervous energy.
