Dawn broke and it was a gray smear, almost like the sky had been erased and redrawn with a tired hand.
The group woke up to the hospital's quiet, the kind that hums with old machines that no longer breathe. And for the first time since the ambush, no boot falls hunted their heartbeat.
The halls still smelled of disinfectant and mold, remnants of the old word, a ghost of order in a world that had forgotten the word.
From outside, the wind worried the curtains through a cracked window and carried dust that glittered in the thin light.
Jonas tested his ribs with a wince, then rolled his shoulders and stood without help.
He still looked like a man who had been used to teach anatomy, bruises sprawling under his torn cloth, but the tremor was gone from his knees.
"Not pretty," he muttered, flexing his hands, "but functional".
Travis managed a crooked grin from the cot opposite.
