The next morning.
After surviving the night of the furious storm, the weather outside was bizarrely clear. The soft morning sunlight pierced through the cracks in the wooden walls and the tattered fabric covering the windows, casting golden rays across the rotting floorboards of the bedroom.
However, the atmosphere inside the room was nowhere near as clear. It remained suffocatingly heavy, laden with something invisible.
Doctor Kram stood motionless at the foot of the bed, his arms crossed. His eyes focused on Yurin's small frame. Yurin's eyes were closed, his breathing a steady, even rhythm.
Today, Yurin looked more peaceful than he had in days. No feral panic. No sleep-talking or hysterical crying. Perhaps drained by the terror of the storm. Or perhaps grounded by the warmth of someone who had served as his refuge.
"Mr. Ren..." Doctor Kram broke the silence, his eyes still locked on the patient.
