Rain's POV:
"What do you mean?" I ask, my voice low as we walk side by side down the long white corridor.
The hospital feels endless today.
Too bright. Too clean.
Like the air itself has been scrubbed raw.
The lights overhead hum softly, cold and sterile, and every step we take echoes faintly off the polished floor.
Voss keeps pace beside me, hands tucked in his pockets.
"That what you did," he says, and there's something almost careful in the way he chooses his words, "you gave him hope to live. That was… uhm. Good."
He glances at me, admiration shining openly in his eyes now, like he doesn't even care if I notice it.
"Very good."
The elevator comes into view at the end of the corridor, its metal doors closed like a mouth refusing to open.
I slow without meaning to, and he does too.
Then his brows knit.
"But why did you say one-forty-two hooks?" he asks, genuine confusion flickering in his grey eyes.
