"Sir, you have to free the room."
"Luther hates me!"
"Sir, please, it's been an hour. We have other patients. This is not the psychology wing. If you need a therapist, you need to go to the lobby and a nurse will show you the way."
"He thinks I want to steal his inheritance!"
"Sir!"
Another nurse entered the room.She was older—gray hair tied back in a no-nonsense bun, deep lines etched into her face like permanent reminders of long shifts and too many sunrises. She paused just past the threshold, nostrils flaring slightly.
The room still smelled raw—metallic, not even sterile, wrong.. She didn't flinch. Just scanned the mess with calm, practiced eyes, the kind that had seen far worse and stopped bothering with dramatics. One gloved hand reached for the cart behind her.
"This room should have been cleaned an hour ago. What is happening?"
