I swiped the card one more time.

The lock disengaged, and I pushed the door open.

The room inside was spacious, dominated by a large king-sized bed with medical-grade adjustments.

Monitors hummed softly in the corner, their screens casting a pale blue glow over the white sheets.

A man lay in the center of the bed, his head propped up by pillows.

An IV line ran from a tall metal pole into the back of his left hand.

I took a step closer, my breath catching in my throat.

The face was identical to Julian’s.

But the hair was slightly longer, and the sharp lines of his jaw were softened by a layer of pale, sickly sweat.

His skin was a translucent gray, and dark circles hollowed out his closed eyes.

“Alexander,” I whispered.

He didn’t move.

His chest rose and fell in slow, shallow rhythms that seemed to require immense effort.

I rushed to the side of the bed, my knees hitting the frame.

I reached out, my fingers touching his limp, cold hand.

“Alexander, please. It’s me. Wake up.”