The doctor left without much ceremony. He gave Viktor the usual instructions — don't lift anything heavy, come back in five days, take the antibiotics — and walked out. Viktor watched the door close behind him, then looked down at his shoulder. Clean bandaging, tight stitching, and a dull throb that would probably get worse before it got better. The bullet was out. That was what mattered.
He sat on the edge of the hospital bed for a moment, then stood up slowly. The ward was quiet. A single light hummed above him. He could hear distant footsteps somewhere down the corridor, the low murmur of staff, the occasional beep of a machine in another room.
