The room was silent, broken only by the occasional beep of a monitor beside the bed. It was a three-bed ward, each cot separated by thin, pale green curtains. Evening was settling outside. The air smelled faintly of antiseptic. Through the window filtered the last glow of sunset, and the first timid stars had already begun to flicker.

Cian lay on the farthest bed, closest to the window. His head throbbed as if someone had struck it from within, and his body ached and felt heavy. He forced his eyes open — the light from the hospital lamp was too bright, his eyelids leaden. Without turning his head, he slowly swept his gaze across the room. No one. Only the steady, almost hypnotic beeping of his heart monitor, and somewhere nearby — two more, slightly out of sync. So he wasn't alone. The thought didn't quite reach his mind in words, only as a dull sense of presence behind the thin partitions.

The door to the corridor stood ajar. A faint draft slipped through it, carrying the distant murmur of footsteps. Cian tried to sit up — his muscles answered with sharp pain, and something unfamiliar tugged at his arm. A catheter. A thin tube ran into his hand, and clear oxygen lines looped to his nose. He blinked, feeling the dryness in his mouth, and then — slowly — fragments of memory began to surface.

Night. Wet asphalt. A car horn. Headlights. Impact. Then — nothing.

Ah… got hit by a car… Shit.

His throat burned, rough and dry, as if after a long sleep. He drew a breath and tried to speak, a little louder this time, though it came out weak: "Hey… anyone here? Nurse?.."