He's dead… Lumian thought, his heart heavy with the news he had anticipated but couldn't fully accept.
Leaving the clinic, Ruhr had appeared to have recovered, escaping the clutches of death. How could he have died so suddenly?
With a heavy heart, Lumian stepped into Room 307, fixing his gaze upon the bed.
There lay Ruhr, his body plagued by festering wounds that oozed a faint yellow pus. His complexion was pale and sickly, and he lay completely still.
Ruhr's eyes were wide open, and there was evidence of vomit around his mouth.
After a few moments of silently studying Ruhr's dazed, pained eyes, Lumian spoke in a deep voice, "When did he pass away?"
Michel, her white hair now devoid of its usual luster, slowly shook her head and replied, "I was exhausted and fell asleep. When I awoke, he was already gone…"
"Did he return to Room 302 before bedtime?" Lumian inquired, pressing for details.
