Jonathan’s POV
The corridor leading to the old storage room is dimly lit, the single strip of fluorescent light above flickering in intervals, throwing uneven shadows across the cracked tiles beneath my shoes. Every step I take echoes faintly, the sound swallowed quickly by the hush of a building that has long since fallen out of daily use. The silence here is almost reverent, as though this forgotten corner of the hospital has chosen to keep secrets just as faithfully as I demand of it. There is a new secret waiting to be spoken into its dust and shadows.
My hand brushes over the cool brass handle of the door before I push it open, and the familiar scent of old paper, worn leather, and faintly rusting metal greets me. This is our place, the only corner where I allow myself to breathe in
