He died long ago

★★★★

Jasmine approached the reception desk, her steps measured but determined. The hospital’s quiet atmosphere unsettled her, the sterile air tinged with a strange stillness. She cleared her throat softly before addressing the receptionist, a middle-aged woman with a no-nonsense demeanor.

"Excuse me," Jasmine began, her voice steady though her nerves hummed beneath the surface. "I’m here to see Mr. Ronald Cooper. Could you please tell me which ward he’s in?"

The receptionist looked up from her screen, her expression carefully controlled. She studied Jasmine for a brief moment, her gaze sharp and assessing, as though weighing her intentions. "First floor," she replied crisply, barely blinking. "Ward number 809. But make sure all your electronic devices are switched off before you enter. It’s hospital protocol."

There was something in the receptionist’s tone—a slight edge, a warning cloaked in professionalism—that made Jasmine hesitate for a fraction of a second. But she quickly dism