A kind of exhaustive silence fell upon the room as dawn started to break, the room that had staged an overlapping frenzy a couple of hours before now sitting adrift on a sea of unusual serenity. The smell of antiseptic mixed with something more human—sweat, fear, the metallic tang of blood that had been spilled and transfused—created an atmosphere that was both clinical and intimate, a space where life and death negotiated in whispers.
Ali was situated at the far corner of Bishop's room, his posture suggesting meditation but his eyes betraying something else entirely—a mind churning through possibilities and impossibilities in equal measure. Whatever Marius had told him about the "Starry Night" had awakened something in the old butler, some memory or knowledge that sat behind his eyes lik
