The sterile room was a world unto itself, a place where time
seemed to both stand still and rush forward at an alarming pace.
Cole blinked against the harsh fluorescent lights, trying to make
sense of his surroundings. The beeping of machines was a
constant reminder of his vulnerability, a sound he had heard
countless times in the precinct but had never truly appreciated
until now. He was alive, but the question loomed large—how
much longer would he be? As he lay there, the memories of the chaotic scene downtown flooded back. The argument, the pushing crowd, the sharp pain in his side—it all felt surreal, like a scene from a movie that he was watching rather than living. He tried to move, to sit up, but his body was uncooperative, heavy with the weight of his injuries. Panic clawed
