Chapter 11: The Infirmary Watch**
For three days, Kane hovered between life and death in the intensive care ward of the prison infirmary. He had lost two pints of blood and suffered a punctured lung.
Every evening during authorized visitation, Arthur sat in the plastic chair beside Kane's hospital bed. He didn't speak preachily; he simply read aloud from classic novels, his calm, baritone voice cutting through the sterile hum of the heart monitors.
On the fourth morning, Kane’s eyelids fluttered open. His gaze drifted to Arthur, who was holding an old copy of *The Count of Monte Cristo*.
"Why didn't you let them finish me?" Kane whispered, his voice dry as parchment. "You would've been safe. I've ruined everything I've ever touched."
"Because a bad beginning doesn't mean your story can't have a good ending," Arthur replied softly, pouring Kane a small cup of fresh water. "You defended a life, Kane. For the first time, you used your strength to protect, not to destroy."
May you like
A single tear cut through the dried sweat on Kane’s rough cheek.
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