By the time they reached the hospital, it was an hour later.
The morning breeze, carrying a slight chill, felt like a sharp blade against the skin.
The hospital had not yet recovered from last night's storm, and everywhere was silent and deserted.
Sylvan Cheney headed towards Jasmine Yale's ward floor.
Before he reached the elevator, a thin figure in black clothes darted past him.
Sylvan Cheney stopped in his tracks.
It was Lana Fern.
Lana Fern looked haggard. Her eyes were swollen as if she had been crying, and her hair was dull and dry, devoid of any color.
She wasn't wearing high heels but a simple black coat with jeans.
She had no makeup on and looked more careworn and disheveled than usual, without any of her usual arrogance.
The dark circles and bags under her eyes were very pronounced, making her look especially exhausted.
Lana Fern approached Sylvan Cheney, her voice choked as she called out, "Mr. Cheney."
