The private hospital room smelled sharply of antiseptic and metal. Harsh fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, bleaching everything to a cold, clinical gray. Nicholas stood at the foot of the bed, arms crossed, staring down at the intruder like he was personally offended by the man's existence.
"You said you didn't kill him," Nicholas said, voice flat and irritated.
"I didn't," Kasteil replied. He leaned against the wall near the door, hands in his coat pockets.
"He's hardly alive," Nicholas muttered. The intruder looked almost dead. Not quite gone, not quite here—just clinging to the last frayed thread of breath.
