The VIP Intensive Care waiting area was so quiet you could hear the hum of the air purifiers.
The cast and team of The Empress's Shadow sat on comfortable beige leather sofas, entirely stripped of their digital lifelines. Without their phones, they looked like a group of stranded aliens trying to figure out how to operate their own hands.
The double doors at the end of the hall clicked open.
Dr. Elias Thorne walked out.
He looked exactly like a Chief Medical Officer who had spent the last seventy-two hours fighting a losing battle against the Grim Reaper. His white coat was slightly wrinkled, his posture was slumped, and his eyes carried the heavy, haunted weight of a man delivering a death sentence.
In reality, Elias was just deeply, profoundly tired of participating in his best friend's wife's theatrics.
He stopped in front of the group.
