Noah slowly walked towards the washroom, holding his side slightly because his body still ached from the injuries. Each step reminded him of the battle, the wounds, the exhaustion, and the blood he had lost.
He pushed the washroom door open and entered.
The bright white light inside made him squint his eyes for a moment. The room was quiet and clean. White tiles covered the walls and floor. A long mirror was fixed above the basins, and the faint smell of disinfectant filled the air.
He walked to one of the urinals and relieved himself. After finishing, he moved towards the basin and turned on the tap.
Cold water flowed out.
He splashed water on his face once.
Then again. Then did it again.
He kept washing his face many times with cold water, as if trying to wash away something more than just sweat and dirt.
Finally, he stopped and sighed deeply. He slowly looked up at the mirror. His face stared back at him.
