The antiseptic scent of the hospital greeted Ellie and Kane as they entered, a stark reminder of the fragility of life. Mendy's room, a small enclave of hope amidst the sterile surroundings, held a silent tension. He lay on the hospital bed, eyes closed, face pallid. The bandages on his arm were like a map of battles fought and wounds endured.
Ellie placed a bouquet of flowers on the bedside table, a feeble attempt to bring color into the clinical space. Kane pulled up a chair, his eyes fixed on Mendy's still form. The room echoed with the rhythmic hum of medical equipment, a constant companion in this realm of uncertainty.
"I can't believe this happened," Ellie whispered, her eyes tracing the lines of pain on Mendy's face.
Kane nodded, his jaw clenched in silent frustration. "He's a fighter. We just need to give him time."
