KROSS

I didn’t slam the file shut.

I couldn’t.

I sat there with it open on the desk, pages spread, as if they weighed more than paper. The lamp above me hummed softly, the room smelled like dust, bleach, and that sharp hospital-clean scent that never really leaves records, no matter how old they are. Smell I've become used to.

The medical records were clear. Crystal clear.

No mystery. Just straight to the point, no sugarcoating. This was the kind of honesty I liked, but right now ...