Chapter 8 · free to read
Four hundred kilometres east. One road in, one road out, and a night watchman who had not been told anybody was coming.
Forty beds. Six patients. Every transfer out of this building had happened in the last nine days.
The wing they never heated. Twenty-two degrees, and a humidifier running in an empty room.
Not a memory of him. A guess. Twenty-seven years of guessing what he might look like by now.
Artwork and narration generated with AI.