The man, dressed in civilian clothes but moving with military precision, quickly scans the room. He meticulously inspects the furniture, paintings, and corners, extracting hidden devices one by one: microphones, tiny cameras, tracking devices.
Sarah covers her mouth in horror.
"We were being spied on…" she mutters, glancing around in disgust.
I closed my eyes momentarily. The pain in my chest now stems not only from my physical wounds but from the burden of our actions.
Or rather, what we were forced to do.
It all began a few days ago. A nurse entered my room to check my vital signs and, upon leaving, made an offhand comment… except for one detail: she mentioned something I had only shared with Susy. Something that had occurred in the utmost privacy, with no one else present.
She did
