The elevator doors slid open onto a floor where money's sterile elegance fought to mask the inevitable tide of decay, corridors stretching wider under a warm golden glow that replaced the harsh corpse-white glare below, polished wood gleaming beneath their feet at a cost rivaling most people's monthly rent while real paintings adorned the walls.
Fresh flowers lined every sill in a desperate aesthetic bribe against death's slow encroachment, heavy doors with gleaming brass numbers exhaling faint lavender and crisp linen that waged a losing war against the underlying rot.
Nurses glided past in soft-soled shoes, one young dark-haired woman with hips swaying just enough to draw the eye glancing up to catch sight of Phei, her face blooming into something far warmer than practiced professionalism—a genuine smile whispering she'd surrender to him over the nearest supply cart if only he murmured the right invitation.
"Good afternoon, Phei."
"Afternoon, Grace. How's the knee?"
