The place was eerily cold, the kind of cold that seeped through scrubs and settled into bones, and none of them wanted to be the first to mention it. They dragged themselves inside, their footsteps echoing too loudly in the silence, and looked around. There was, strangely, no one. Not a single person in the room. Well, there was probably a reason for that. Everyone here was dead.
"I didn't think we were right above the mortuary," Salvar commented, his voice low but carrying in the stillness. His eyes were already moving, scanning the room, tracing the walls, looking for an exit. Old habits. He couldn't stop them even if he wanted to.
"Nor did I," Patrick said, his voice barely above a whisper. His hand had found Salvar's sleeve and clutched it with a desperate grip with no intention of leaving the hold. He was not moving his head. If he didn't look at the drawers, they didn't exist. That was the logic he was operating under, and he was sticking to it.
