— Kyle Valtier's POV —
4:13 a.m.
The city was sunk in a deep slumber, and the dense winter fog crept over the asphalt streets like wandering spirits searching for their graves.
We stood in the dark alley opposite the main entrance of Saint Hilarius Hospital.
From a distance, the building looked like an architectural miracle descended from the heavens to cleanse the defiled land of Elysium.
A massive façade of pristine white marble, gleaming under warm, soothing floodlights. Enormous Roman columns held up the entrance canopy, and a fountain of pure water stood at the center of the front courtyard, crowned by a towering marble statue of Saint Hilarius, his arms outstretched to embrace the sick, traced with lines of pure gold.
Luxury ambulances rested quietly in their spots, and security guards in elegant white suits stood by the automatic glass gates, exchanging friendly smiles with a few nurses.
An angelic scene. Peaceful. Pure.
But it was the purity that comes before decay.
