SPECTRAL REFORMATION

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: MEETING DR. EKWAL

The towering glass facade of Falmont General Hospital cast long shadows across the magistrate’s convoy as it pulled to a halt by the reserved parking zone. The sky above was overcast, echoing the solemnity of the moment. Mr. Azim stepped out of the black vehicle with the calculated grace of a man accustomed to control. His eyes, sharp and probing, swept the entrance of the hospital. Two security officers greeted him with bows of respect.

He wasn’t here on an official inspection. This was personal—deeply so.

The hospital’s managing director, Dr. Thorne Ekwal, a lean man in his sixties with silver-rimmed glasses and a gait that bespoke authority, met Mr. Azim at the elevator lobby.

“Your Honour,” he said, bowing slightly. “You’re welcome.”

Azim didn’t return the smile. “Let’s walk,” he said briskly.

The two men proceeded silently down the hallway, their footsteps echoing faintly against the sterile white tiles. Nurses parted for them. Patients in waiting rooms turned briefly, then looked away, sensing the gravity of the situation.

Inside the executive wing, Dr. Ekwal opened the door to a private consultation room. He gestured for Azim to enter, then shut the door behind them with deliberate care.

“Coffee?” the doctor offered.

Azim waved it off and sat. “Let’s get to the point. I’m here about my daughter.”

Dr. Ekwal hesitated, then sat across from him. “Yes, I presumed as much. Lady Hew updated me on some...developments. I assume you’ve heard about the boy?”

Azim didn’t blink. “I know she’s been visiting a patient named Ron. What I don’t know is why a child of my house, my bloodline, is becoming involved in whatever circus this is. I want clarity. No riddles.”

The doctor cleared his throat, choosing his words carefully. “Mr. Azim, Ron isn’t an ordinary patient. He was brought in with symptoms highly irregular—blood toxicity beyond medical explanation. More disturbingly, his condition has attracted the attention of an... entity named Minos.”

Azim frowned. “I know the name. He’s the half-zombie, isn’t he?”

“Yes.” Dr. Ekwal adjusted his glasses. “Minos is dangerous. He appears to be emotionally attached to Ron. We believe Ron may carry traces of something—possibly a mutation or hybrid contagion. Whatever it is, it’s new. And the presence of Minos makes it worse.”

Azim stared at him. “And my daughter?”

The doctor exhaled slowly. “Lady Wyonne has been visiting Ron frequently. She’s spoken to him multiple times, sometimes in private. Lady Hew, her sister, initially encouraged the visits, thinking Ron might be a stabilising influence. But Ron... he is indifferent. Bordering on insolent.”

The magistrate’s fingers curled against the leather armrest. “Explain that.”

“Your daughter shows care—devotion, even. Ron, however, treats her with no particular regard. He has not shown appreciation, nor affection. What’s more troubling is that he does not seem to grasp the risk he poses. His association with Minos alone should place him in quarantine. And yet, he walks the ward under watch, yes—but not in chains.”

Azim’s brows furrowed. “So she’s showing affection to a boy who could infect her with something unknown? And he shrugs it off?”

Dr. Ekwal nodded gravely. “That’s the concern.”

There was a long silence. Outside, an ambulance siren wailed faintly in the distance, swallowed quickly by the thick glass windows. Azim slowly stood and walked to the corner window, hands clasped behind his back.

“You should have told me,” he said quietly.

“We intended to,” Dr. Ekwal replied. “But Lady Hew insisted she could manage the situation. It seems she underestimated the girl’s emotional investment.”

Azim turned around. “Has Wyonne been tested for exposure?”

“Yes. Twice. So far, she shows no symptoms. But sir... we don’t understand what this pathogen is—if it’s even a pathogen. We’re playing in the dark.”

Azim nodded slowly. “And the boy—Ron. What does he say about Minos?”

“Very little,” said the doctor. “He appears defensive when Minos is mentioned. Some speculate Minos protects him. Others believe Ron has no real knowledge of what he carries—what he is.”

Azim returned to his seat. “I want restrictions placed on Wyonne’s access to the boy.”

Dr. Ekwal hesitated. “Sir, with all due respect, your daughter is strong-willed. She’s not underage. Her rights as an adult—”

“I’m not asking you to imprison her,” Azim cut in sharply. “But I will not allow my daughter to waste her time—and health—on a boy who cannot appreciate her worth, nor comprehend the threat that clings to him.”

There was another pause.

“Understood,” Dr. Ekwal said. “We will tighten oversight.”

Azim looked at him squarely. “And I want you to observe the boy closely. If there is even the faintest sign that he’s developing what Minos is... I want him removed from general care. This is not a school for sentimental cases. It’s a hospital.”

The managing director gave a nod. “He’s already under special watch. After Lady Hew’s suspicions about Minos, we’ve had armed security stationed at the east wing. Minos doesn’t show aggression often, but he’s unpredictable.”

Azim leaned back. His mind spun with calculations. Public outcry about the zombie plague was mounting. The latest news showed entire stretches of Antarctica swallowed by hordes—black-blooded, fast-moving, beyond reason. Now there were whispers of similar patterns emerging across the lower Asian belt. Governments were in emergency meetings. Borders were being fortified.

And here, in the heart of his city, his daughter might be touching hands with the next mutation.

The magistrate stood.

“I want a full record of Ron’s health reports. Every chart, every deviation. If he’s harboring something inside him, I will not be caught unaware.”

Dr. Ekwal rose too. “Of course. I’ll have Lady Hew personally brief you.”

Azim turned to leave, but paused at the door.

“One more thing,” he said. “Find out what this boy’s background is. Parents, school, upbringing. A child doesn’t draw the loyalty of a half-zombie without a reason. I want that reason.”

The door closed behind him with a soft thud, leaving the doctor in the silence of the room.

Outside, Mr. Azim walked briskly back to the elevator, the marble floor clicking beneath his polished shoes. His face was composed, but something heavy clouded his gaze. As the lift door closed, he didn’t move. His thoughts were a storm.

He hadn’t raised Wyonne to chase after shadowy boys. And he hadn’t survived three decades of law and war to watch his family fall to infection—be it viral or emotional.

No. This would end, and soon.

And if it meant removing Ron entirely... so be it.