The private medical wing smelled faintly of antiseptic and polished steel.
Evelyn disliked hospitals.
Not because of fear.
Because hospitals remembered.
Every corridor carried echoes she could not silence. Every monitor sounded too much like the night her life divided into before and after.
Silas sat on the examination bed swinging his legs gently, a tablet balanced on his knees while animated figures moved across the screen. His color had returned, though faint shadows still rested beneath his eyes.
Recovery suited him.
Fragility did not.
Dr. Han reviewed the digital chart projected onto the wall, her expression carefully neutral.
“These are routine follow-up tests,” she assured. “Post-transfusion monitoring is standard for rare blood compatibility cases.”
Evelyn nodded once.
R
