Chris was dead.

Only five hours had passed since he was taken away by the police. A living, breathing person had become a cold corpse.

It was the first time Sean had seen a fresh corpse with his own eyes, and the deceased was his friend. A white sheet covered only Chris’s body, leaving his head exposed. When Sean recognized the stiff, ashen face with purple lips as Chris’s, his pupils constricted, and his heart leaped into his throat, nearly suffocating him.

Only then did he understand why Quill had said it would be hard for Chris to recover.

Why he’d said Chris couldn’t communicate normally even if his mood stabilized.

Because Chris was already dead.

Quill still wore his gentle smile, which looked exceptionally vivid under the stark white lights—so vivid it was almost sinister, a stark contrast to the morgue’s chilly atmosphere. His tone was as mild as ever, but Sean detected a spine-chilling coldness within it.

"Mr. Sean, is there anything you’d like to ask?"

"If you can’t communicate with him normally, I can answer on his behalf."

In that instant, a powerful sense of crisis surged through Sean. He struggled to suppress his racing heart, slipped his right hand into his pocket, and his voice was as heavy as a stone sinking into the sea. "You killed him."

It wasn’t a question.

He was stating a fact.

Chris’s injury from hitting the wall hadn’t been that serious; Sean hadn’t even seen much blood. It was by no means fatal. Even if the hospital had intentionally withheld treatment, Chris shouldn’t have died so quickly. The only explanation was that he had been murdered.

Because the Witch Hunt Operation was real, and Chris was a Wizard.

Florist Hospital was the "they" Chris had spoken of!

Quill noticed Sean’s movement. His gaze turned playful, as if he had just stumbled upon something amusing.

"Did you bring a gun?" he asked.

Sean didn’t answer, instead pressing his own question. "Why did you kill him?"

"What if I told you I didn’t kill him? That he used Magic Power to control my scalpel, tried to kill me, but bungled the job and accidentally killed himself? Would you believe me?" Quill spread his hands innocently.

Sean stared at Quill, fury blazing in his eyes.

"Oh, I’m sorry. Did I just say the word ’Magic Power’?" Quill feigned realization, tapping his own head. "Look at me. I must have been talking to your friend too much and gotten influenced by him. Really, there are no such things as Wizards in this world. It’s all just the patients’ wild and fanciful delusions."

"But as for you, Mr. Sean."

"Although our country permits private gun ownership, people don’t usually carry them around. And you were just coming to the hospital to visit a friend, so why would you bring a gun?"

"I’m guessing you believed what Chris said. You believe that this world of ours has a so-called ’truth,’ and a secret organization dedicated to hunting down people like you who know this truth. You suspect that we, Florist Hospital, are such an organization. You sensed danger, and that’s why you brought a gun. Am I right?" 𝐟𝐫𝕖𝗲𝘄𝚎𝗯𝕟𝐨𝕧𝐞𝚕.𝕔𝕠𝐦

"Earlier, you seemed to be admiring the garden, but you were actually planning an escape route."

"I must say, you’re very cautious, Mr. Sean."

"Unfortunately, however, you’re overthinking things. The truth is, you’re sick, too." Though his words were regretful, Quill’s expression betrayed a morbid excitement. His eyes, behind their lenses, were sharp and greedy, like a hawk that has spotted its prey. "Based on your behavior just now, I can make a preliminary diagnosis. You’re suffering from the same delusional disorder as Chris, and it’s already severely affecting your cognition. Therefore, my recommendation is..."

"Stay, Mr. Sean."

"I’ve already told you about Florist Hospital. Our facilities are excellent, as you’ve seen for yourself on your way here. We would never let Mr. Sean be mistreated in any way."

"We are a private hospital, so the fees are indeed quite high. However, Mr. Sean is a famous novelist whose monthly royalties are more than what we wage-earners make in a year. Mr. Sean should be able to afford it."

"Please rest assured, Mr. Sean, recuperating here won’t affect your work. On the contrary, I can even help you improve your productivity. I could arrange a private, dark room just for you. No food until you meet your daily word count. What do you think?"

By the end, Quill was speaking with a salesman’s formal courtesy, truly treating Sean as his client. He also knew Sean’s profession—he had known from the very beginning. His polite demeanor at the entrance had all been an act, a disguise. Quill’s real goal was to keep Sean at the hospital!

In Sean’s eyes, the face that had once seemed so refined now appeared twisted and distorted. The polite smile that should have been endearing was washed out by the stark white light, exuding an indescribable eeriness.

Sean’s finger was already on the trigger, his nerves stretched taut. The barrel of the gun pressed against the fabric of his wide pocket, forming a small tent. His voice was stiff from the cold air. "So, Florist Hospital can just kidnap people with impunity?"

"No, no, no, I didn’t ’kidnap’ you," Quill corrected with a smile. "You came to our hospital of your own volition. It was Mr. Sean who came to see Dr. Quel for a consultation. Dr. Quel diagnosed his condition, and Mr. Sean chose to stay here to cooperate with our treatment for a speedy recovery."

"The admission papers are already being processed. They should be brought over shortly."

Quill smiled gently. "Mr. Sean will sign them, won’t he?"

The paperwork he had instructed the staff to prepare downstairs wasn’t to facilitate Sean’s departure, but to ensure he could never leave.