Elena Rostova stood behind the heavy oak counter of Nurse Station 4B. Her hands gripped the brass clipboard rail.
Down the central corridor, four heavy oak doors swung open at forty-five-degree angles.
From the dark interiors of Rooms 401, 404, 407, and 410, cold air poured into the hallway. It smelled of stagnant formalin, damp bed linens, and uncarved tallow.
The shift clock on the wall clicked forward with a quiet snap: 01:45 AM.
Squeak-clack... squeak-clack...
The rhythmic sound of rolling casters echoed against the green terrazzo floor.
Elena glanced down at the census sheet clipped to the counter.
“Those four rooms have been vacant since midnight,” Elena whispered, her voice tight. “Room Four-Zero-One was gastrointestinal radiology. Room Four-Zero-Four was cardiac telemetry.”
