The hospital's silhouette loomed closer, a stark monolith of sterile white slashed with cold blue neon, cutting through the dusk like a blade.
Its towering form seemed to hum with quiet authority, a fortress for the city's broken heroes, where the air itself felt antiseptic.
Kael eased off the gas, guiding the truck into the final turn toward the lower service lane.
He didn't aim for the main entrance—too many eyes, too many questions.
The back routes were safer, shadowed, meant for deliveries and secrets.
With one hand steady on the wheel, he fished his phone from his pocket, thumbing through to a name pinned at the top of his favorites.
Clara.
The call rang once.
Twice.
A crisp voice answered, edged with exasperation.
"What is it now?"
Kael let out a breath, the tension in his shoulders loosening just a fraction.
"Clara. Emergency. Need to bring someone in. Off the books."
Silence stretched across the line, heavy as the hospital's shadow.
