The moment Gabriel turned the doorknob, the metallic click created a small echo that felt too loud for the tension pressing against the walls. He pushed the door open slowly at first, then faster when he heard a faint, trembling whimper drifting from inside.
The hospital room was dim, lit only by a soft overhead lamp and the weak morning light filtering through the blinds. The air smelled faintly of antiseptic and warm fabric, the kind of sterile calmness that tried to cover the chaos of pain and memory.
At the center of the room stood the bed, its white sheets pulled high around Isabella’s body, as if she were hiding inside them even while unconscious.
Gabriel stepped in first. Andreas moved quietly behind him and remained near the door, knowing his presence was needed but not wanting
