Chapter 2: The Scent of Antiseptic
The drive to the county hospital was a blur. The little girl, who introduced herself as Mia, sat in the passenger seat of Arthur's vintage Aston Martin, clutching the torn photo as if it were a lifeline. She gave him directions in a voice far too old for her small body.
""She told me not to find you,"" Mia whispered, staring out the window. ""But the doctors said she won't make it to morning. I didn't want her to be alone.""
Arthur gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white. Why had Elena left? Why hadn't she told him? The questions gnawed at him, but they were eclipsed by a profound, suffocating terror.
They arrived at a crumbling public hospital, a stark contrast to the opulence of the cathedral he had just fled. The sterile smell of bleach and old linoleum hit him like a physical blow. Mia grabbed his hand—her small fingers cold and trembling—and led him through the labyrinthine corridors. They stopped outside Room 314. The rhythmic, agonizingly slow beep of a heart monitor seeped through the thin wooden door. Arthur paused, his heart hammering against his ribs. He pushed the door open.
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