John hovered on the brink of consciousness, the persistent beep piercing through the fog of his mind, drawing him back from the depths of unconsciousness. Battling against heavy eyelids, he struggled to open them, confusion swirling within. With a determined effort, his eyelids fluttered apart, greeted by the glaring brightness of the room. The intense light assaulted his senses, compelling him to squint as he tried to orient himself. The walls gleamed with clinical whiteness, the scent of antiseptic triggering a sense of déjà vu. How did he end up here again? As his vision adjusted, he recognized the familiar sights of the infirmary—the neatly arranged medications on the nearby table, the incessant beeping was coming from the medical equipment attached to his chest. The more he took in his surroundings, the more reality flooded back, hitting him like a tidal wave: the attack, Mason, Darius! Darius was stabbed! Panicking, John attempted to move, urgency to find Darius consuming him
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