Zion
The crisp autumn air carries the scent of fallen leaves and distant rain as I step out of the sleek black car. The amber and crimson trees surrounding the hospital sway gently in the breeze, their branches whispering secrets I have no interest in hearing. My leather shoes crunch against the gravel, the sound oddly satisfying in the stillness of the lot.
I pause to take in the building before me—a towering, angular structure with sterile white walls that gleam under the muted sunlight. Its reflective windows catch slivers of the gray sky, making the whole place look like a monument to cold efficiency.
Excitement hums beneath my skin, sharp and electric.
I’m not here for healing or closure. That isn’t my style. No, I’ve come for something far more satisfying: destruction.
A
