On a Saturday morning, Roman would much rather be at home in bed.

Letha had asked him for a favour. A quick delivery, nothing more. His cousin had a knack for dropping things in his lap like an offering, usually with that disarming, sweet smile of hers.

“It’s for a friend,” she’d said in a rush before disappearing for the weekend, leaving the envelope with him. Letha’s friends were usually the type of people Roman wouldn’t bother to remember if they passed him on the street, and he liked it that way. But this time, it was different. This “friend” was in here. Hemlock Acres Hospital.

The receptionist barely glanced up as he leaned on the desk. “Visitor for Norman Godfrey,” Roman muttered, sliding the envelope forward like it was a bribe. If his uncle was around, this would be quick—an exchange of pleasantries, he'd leave the delivery errand in his capable hands, and then Roman could crawl back to bed.

But no such luck. Norman wasn’t there, off dealing with one of his cases, no doubt. Roman let out a low sigh, swiping the envelope back. “Room 217,” the receptionist said, her voice hollow.

Roman frowned.

“I didn’t—”

“The room number. On the envelope. You’ll find your friend there.”

Roman stuffed the envelope into his jacket and started down the hall, boots thudding against the waxed linoleum. The corridors were unnervingly quiet, broken only by the occasional muffled sound of a television or a distant cough.

He found himself hoping, praying, that this mysterious friend of Letha’s wasn’t some washed-up junkie or old lady on oxygen. Letha had a way of collecting strays, people she swore had “good hearts” beneath the grime- whereas if he weren't obligated to do this, it would never have crossed Roman's mind to visit hospital patients out of the goodness of his heart.