The hospital changed after dark.

By day, it buzzed with movement - nurses rushing, monitors beeping, reporters pressing against the glass doors. But at night, it went still. Too still. The kind of silence that hums just beneath your skin, like something waiting to wake.

I couldn't sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, the explosion replayed - the roar, the heat, the flash of white before the world went silent. Sometimes I could still feel the tremor in my bones, the weight of concrete above me, ...