Marlowe
The den's medical bay had never been designed to hold a proper vigil, and by the time evening settled in, half the club had crowded into the narrow hallway outside Wrench's room anyway, nobody willing to simply go about ordinary business while his condition remained uncertain.
Preacher moved between us and the small, curtained space where Wrench lay hooked to monitors that beeped with a steady, cautious rhythm, his expression giving away little beyond careful, professional focus.
"Heart attack," he confirmed, finally, once he'd stabilized things enough to step out and address the anxious crowd properly. "Moderate, not catastrophic, though at his age and with his history, moderate still carries real risk. We got him treatment fast enough that the immediate danger's passed. Next f
