American comic book: I, with my abundant martial virtue, love to do good to others.

Lynn looked at her: "What happened?"

Carmela, who had been clutching the edge of her employee ID card with her head down, stopped upon hearing this. The rain outside intensified, pattering against the glass like countless tiny pebbles. She remained silent for a few seconds, and when she looked up, a hint of hesitation appeared for the first time in her usually steady eyes.

"Lynn," she said softly, "can I ask you something?"

"Um."

"The cases you usually handle..." she hesitated, as if choosing her words carefully, "aren't many of them related to mutants?"

The ward suddenly fell silent. The green numbers on the monitor flashed slowly and steadily. An ambulance drove past the street corner outside the window, and the long, drawn-out siren could be faintly heard in the distance.

Lynn shifted his gaze from her face to the rain outside the window: "Why do you ask that?"

Carmela didn't answer immediately, but her fingers clenched tighter and tighter until her knuckles turned white. She seemed to have made a great decision before uttering those words.

"Because when I changed your dressing that day, I saw a Nevada State Prison crime scene evidence tag in your backpack. I didn't go through your things on purpose, the tag just showed up." She licked her slightly dry lips. "Later, during the night shift, I overheard the security personnel in the vehicle talking, saying that you were injured because you fought with a high-risk mutant who had escaped."

Lynn turned back and looked at her.

Carmela felt a little uncomfortable under his gaze, but didn't shy away: "I know I shouldn't ask about these things. It's okay if you don't want to answer. I just... I just wanted to confirm if you can handle this kind of thing."

"Who did you run into?" Lynn asked.

Carmela's eyelashes trembled slightly, as if those words had struck a nerve. She looked down, took her phone out of her pocket, paused for two seconds before unlocking it, and handed him a photo.

The photo shows a young boy, no more than nineteen or twenty years old, with curly hair, dark skin, a high nose bridge, and a row of white teeth when he smiles. He's wearing an old baseball jacket and standing in front of graffiti on a wall in the Bronx, with someone half-embracing him on the shoulder. His smile is so clean it's almost silly.

“My brother, Mateo,” Carmela said. “He’s six years younger than me.”

Lynn took the phone and looked at the photo: "I can't see anything wrong with him."

“You couldn’t tell before,” Carmela’s voice trailed off. “He was a real troublemaker when he was little, but not a bad guy. He’d steal donuts from the corner bakery and give all his change to the guy playing guitar on the street. We lived in that old apartment building north of Harlem, and the hallway lights were always broken. He’d always stand at the bottom of the stairs and scare me. As he got older, he started working. He delivered food and worked at a car repair shop. Life was chaotic, but it was still relatively normal.”

She paused, as if something was blocking her throat.

"Six months ago, he lost control in front of me for the first time." She withdrew her hand, staring at her palm. "That day, I came back from my night shift and saw him in the kitchen, trembling all over. There was a layer on his arm... like shards of glass. It wasn't something stuck to the surface of his skin; it was like transparent crystals growing from his flesh, oozing out all the way down his elbow. He was terrified and frantically tried to wrap it with a towel, but the more he wrapped, the more it spread."

Lynn's expression remained unchanged; he only asked, "How long did it last?"

"About two minutes," Carmela said, "and then he slowly pulled back, leaving only a bloody gash on his hand. He sat on the ground, trembling, and asked me if I had seen wrong."

"Did you get checked out afterwards?"

“I went.” Carmela gave a wry smile. “The community clinic suggested we get registered for screening as soon as they heard ‘mutant’. Matteo refused. He said that once we registered, we would be targeted, taken for testing, lose our jobs, and the landlord would use that as an excuse to kick us out. You know, a lot of people say they accept mutants, but when it’s their turn to have one living in their building, their faces immediately change.”

Lynn handed the photo back to her: "What he said isn't entirely wrong."

Carmela gripped her phone, her fingers trembling slightly. "I wanted to try to persuade him slowly. But over the past six months, he's become increasingly strange. First, he stopped coming home, and then he started bringing strangers downstairs to talk at night. One night, when I came back from my shift, I saw him standing at the alley entrance. Across the street was a gray car without license plates, the window only half-rolled down, and the person inside gave him a black metal box."

Lynn's eyes darkened: "Did you see who was inside?"

"No. The hat was pulled down low." Carmela shook her head. "But when Matteo saw me, he shoved the suitcase back in as if he'd been burned, yelled at me, and told me to mind my own business. That was the first time he'd ever spoken to me like that."

When was the last time you saw him?

"Three days ago," Carmela pursed her lips, "or perhaps it shouldn't be called 'seeing.' It's more like 'bumping into'."

The rain slanted down the window, leaving streaks of water sliding down the glass and blurring the neon lights and streetlights into patches of color. The wall lamps in the hospital room were warm, but her face was paler than the light outside.

"I was coming home from my night shift. As soon as I got off the subway, I saw that the glass of the convenience store across the street was completely shattered. The police cars hadn't arrived yet, and the street was in chaos. Someone was shouting that a madman was having an episode inside, that his hands were glowing, and that anything he touched would break. I had a bad feeling right then and there." She took a breath. "When I ran over, I saw him rushing out of the back door, his hat off, his face covered in blood. It wasn't his blood, or at least not entirely. The crystals on his arms had grown up to his shoulders, like a layer of transparent blades. When he saw me, he paused for a moment, his lips moved, as if he wanted to say something."

"And then?" Lynn asked.

"Then someone whistled from the other end of the alley." Carmela's voice was tense. "Matto immediately turned and ran. Two men followed him out, wearing black coats and walking very fast; they were clearly not ordinary thugs. They didn't look at me and chased him straight into the back alley."

"Did you call the police?"

"I reported it." Carmela nodded. "But when the police arrived, they only recorded the store's losses, saying no one died or was seriously injured, and the surveillance cameras were broken. They're treating it as a regular fight for now. I showed them Matteo's picture, and they just told me to go back and wait for news."

"Why do you think he's gone astray?" Lynn looked at her. "That alone isn't enough."

Carmela was silent for a while, as if she finally couldn't hold on any longer, and brought up another photo.

This time, it's a blurry night scene photo, as if taken secretly through the stair railing. In the corner of the photo, Matteo is standing at the entrance of an abandoned warehouse, surrounded by three or four people. One of them is carrying a box, and another is handing him something. Upon zooming in, you can vaguely see a badge on the man's cuff—a broken ring pattern with what looks like a vertical line running through the middle.

Lynn's eyes suddenly turned cold.

"Do you recognize this mark?" Carmela asked immediately.

"I've seen similar ones." Lynn didn't finish her sentence, only looking at the photo for a couple more seconds. "When did you take this?"

“Last Friday,” Carmela said, “I was trying to follow him to see what he was doing. But before I even got close, he spotted me. He rushed out of the warehouse door, almost snatched my phone, and asked if I was crazy for following him. I said, ‘Are you working for some organization? What are you touching?’ And he yelled at me.”

Her voice suddenly went hoarse, as if she still felt embarrassed recalling that scene.

"He said, 'You don't understand anything. You normal people only pretend to care after things happen to you.'" Carmela closed her eyes. "Lynn, I've never felt so powerless. I'm his sister. I change dressings, stitch up, press on bleeding points, and teach new interns how to handle emergencies, but I don't even know what's happening to my own brother."

There was a brief silence in the ward.

The rain gradually subsided, and the colors of the neon lights outside the window began to become clearer. A restaurant across the street lit up its orange sign, and taxis drove over the flooded pavement below, splashing up flat sprays of water.

Carmela slowly pulled her phone back, as if afraid of being rejected, and then said, "I know you're on vacation, no, I should say you're recovering from your injuries. I also know this request is presumptuous. You and I don't know each other at all; I'm just your nurse. But I really don't know who else to ask. If Matteo really gets involved in things related to mutants, ordinary police officers might not be able to find out. You... could you help me take a look? Even just tell me who he's hanging out with right now."

After she said that, her shoulders tensed up, as if she had given up the last bit of dignity.

Lynn did not answer immediately.

He leaned against the headboard, his fingers unconsciously tapping the blanket. The small movement aggravated the wound on his left arm, causing a faint pain. He looked at Carmela, at her forced calm expression, at the barely suppressed anxiety in her eyes.

"Carmela," he finally spoke.

"Um?"

"After your brother's first mutation, did he experience any other symptoms?" Lynn asked specifically, "such as persistent high fever, sensitivity to light, sudden emotional outbursts, or short-term memory loss?"

Carmela paused, as if she hadn't expected him to ask for details directly instead of refusing. She nodded immediately: "Yes. He gets fevers, especially at night. Also, he's been hesitant to touch cold water lately; washing his hands feels like a shock. His emotions... are indeed very volatile. I thought it was just stress."

"Has he come into contact with any medicine, powder, injection, or nutritional supplements of unknown origin?"

"I never saw the injection myself, but there was a strange smell in his room once, like metal that had been soaking for a long time and mixed with bleach." She frowned and thought for a moment. "There was also a small piece of purple crystal, which I originally wanted to keep, but it disappeared later."

Lynn's gaze deepened: "Purple?"

"It's very shallow, like crushed sugar," Carmela said.

Lynn didn't say anything more.

Carmela looked at him, her fingers tightening little by little: "Isn't it terrible?"

"It's not certain yet," Lynn replied calmly, "but the stuff he's been dealing with certainly doesn't seem like simple street gang merchandise."

Carmela's face paled even more: "Then what should we do?"

"Don't alert him yet," Lynn said. "And don't follow him alone again. You've already been discovered once. If you go a second time, he'll either hide even deeper or drag you down with him."

"I understand." Carmela nodded quickly. "So what can I do now?"

"Give me everything you know," Lynn said, looking at her. "The places he frequents, the people he contacts, the photos you took, the exact time of your last meeting, your address, and the phone numbers and social media accounts he might use. The more detailed the better."

A faint but obvious light flashed in Carmela's eyes: "You're willing to investigate?"

"I meant we need to investigate," Lynn corrected her. "It's not about bringing him back right now, nor is it a guarantee that it can be resolved before tonight. Your brother is a mutant, but that doesn't necessarily mean he's completely entangled. But if he has indeed touched something he shouldn't have, we need to find out which side he's on first."

Carmela stood there, seemingly relieved, yet also almost losing her balance. She instinctively grabbed the back of the chair and whispered, "Thank you."

Lynn looked at her: "Don't thank me yet. There's one more thing."

"What?"

"From now on, don't tell anyone about this except for me and a very few people you trust." Lynn's voice wasn't loud, but it was very clear. "Including your hospital colleagues. If anyone asks about your brother, just say he recently left home, nothing else. And don't send those photos you took around anymore."

Carmela nodded repeatedly: "I understand, I won't say anything."

"Also, don't go home alone tonight," Lynn added. "Have a friend accompany you, or have the hospital security escort you part of the way. Since you took pictures of those people, they probably noticed you."

Carmela's eyelashes fluttered; clearly, she hadn't really considered this before. She paused for two seconds before whispering, "Okay."

The call bell at the nurses' station outside rang, and hurried footsteps approached. Carmela glanced at the clock on the wall, snapped back to reality, and stood up. "I have to go to ward number four. That patient just had abdominal surgery today, and he's in a terrible mood; he pulls out his tubes whenever he's unhappy."

She took two steps toward the door, then turned back: "Lin En, I'll organize the documents for you before I leave work. I know you can't be discharged from the hospital now, and you can't get out of bed for too long. Just take a look first, and the rest... we'll talk about it when you're feeling a bit better."

Lynn hummed in agreement.

Carmela walked to the door, but stopped when she grasped the doorknob. Without turning around, she said to him with her back to him, "I didn't want you to grab him."

Lynn watched her retreating figure.

Her voice was very soft, as if she was afraid of being overheard.

"I just want to find him before people treat him like a monster."

After saying that, she opened the door and quickly walked out. The white light from outside flooded in from the corridor, only to be shut out again as the door closed once more.

Lynn leaned against the headboard and didn't move.

The rain outside the window had stopped, but dense watermarks remained on the glass. In the distance, a sliver of the setting sun peeked through the gaps in the dark clouds, illuminating half of the top floor of the office building and also the wall lamp in the hospital room that hadn't been turned off.

He reached for his phone on the bedside table and dialed a number. (End of Chapter)