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

The phone rang twice, and Jason answered it. In the background, there were loud street noises and car horns.

"You'd better be dead soon," Jason said. "Otherwise, if I get your call right after I park my car, I'll really want to go upstairs and strangle you back to your hospital bed."

"Help me look up someone," Lynn said in a low voice.

There was a half-second silence on Jason's end, then he clearly sensed something was wrong: "Who?"

"Matto Ortiz, male, around twenty years old, lives north of Harlem. He may have recently been in contact with a small group bearing the broken ring insignia." Lynn glanced at the doorway to make sure no one was there. "I'll send you the photos later. Don't use the official system; start with street reports and unregistered records."

"Where did you get that name?"

"Someone I met at the hospital."

"Nurse?"

"Um."

Jason chuckled on the other end of the phone: "I told you, it wouldn't be a waste of resources for you to be lying in a hospital bed with that face. How far have you gone in your investigation?"

"First, confirm whether he has any contact with the 'Seed' network." Lynn paused. "Also, check if there are any unregistered cases in the Bronx and Harlem area recently related to transparent crystals, vitrification mutations, or convenience store conflicts."

Jason's voice immediately turned cold: "You suspect that stuff from Nevada has leaked into New York?"

"I suspect someone is testing the waters," Lynn said, "but we can't draw any conclusions yet."

"Understood," Jason replied quickly. "I'll do a round of checks tonight. You stay put and don't let the nurses find out you're taking on more work."

After hanging up, Lynn put his phone back, tilted his head back, and closed his eyes briefly. The fracture in his chest still reminded him with each breath that it hadn't healed, and the wound on his left arm throbbed intermittently. Yet, that vigilance he had never truly let go of in the Nevada desert seemed to slowly return along his veins.

Half an hour later, Carmela came again before leaving get off work.

She had changed out of her nurse's uniform and was wearing a dark gray coat. Her hair was down a bit, and without the tension she wore at work, she looked younger. She was carrying a brown paper document bag with the edges neatly pressed flat.

"It's all in there." She placed the file folder on the bedside table. "Photo printouts, the timeline I remember, the places he frequents, and two names that I find suspicious. One is Rico, and the other is Simon. I don't know if they're real names or nicknames. Matteo has been in contact with them a lot lately."

Lynn took it and felt that inside, besides the paper, there was also a small plastic bag.

"What is this?"

"It's something he left at home," Carmela said, her voice lowering. "It's not a crystal; I didn't keep that one. It's a thin metal piece that fell out of his coat pocket. It looks like some kind of pass, but I don't understand it. It also has that broken ring pattern on it. I didn't dare hand it over to the police, so I've kept it hidden."

Lynn looked up at her: "You did the right thing."

Carmela stood by the bed, her fingertips lightly brushing the edge of the file folder. "My friend is coming to pick me up today; I won't go alone. Also, I'll stay at her place tonight, not go back to my old apartment."

"very good."

She looked at him, as if she wanted to say something more, but didn't know where to begin. The lights in the ward were soft, and the sky outside the window had completely darkened, casting faint shadows of the two of them on the glass.

"Lynn," she finally called his name.

"Um."

"You really will help, right?"

Lynn placed the file folder on her lap, looked up at her, and spoke in a calm but clear voice.

"I'll look into it," he said. "I'll help as much as I can."

Carmela looked at him, as if she were finally letting out a breath she had been holding in for days. She nodded, her eyes not obviously moist, but they did brighten for a moment.

"Then I'll come again tomorrow," she said softly.

"Carmela".

"What?"

"Lock the door tonight," Lynn said, looking at her. "Don't answer unknown numbers. If someone is waiting for you outside the hospital, don't go there. Message me or Jason directly."

Carmela paused for a moment: "You've even got Jason—"

"I need to get moving first," Lynn said calmly. "Otherwise, by the time I can get out of bed, the clues will have long since died out."

She pursed her lips, as if she wanted to laugh but didn't actually laugh: "You really aren't the type to quietly recuperate."

"You're only realizing this now?"

"I already knew." Carmela sighed softly, gripping the doorknob. "Goodnight, Inspector."

"Good night."

After the door closed, Lynn opened the brown paper bag and pulled out the printed photograph and the metal piece from the plastic bag. The metal piece was about half the size of her palm, with worn edges. The front had the broken ring pattern, and the back had a faint serial number engraved on it, as well as a barely visible dark purple mark, as if it had been touched with some powder and then wiped off.

The ward was so quiet that only the faint hum of the medical equipment could be heard.

Lynn held the metal sheet under the light for a long time, his gaze gradually darkening.

The Manhattan night outside the window had fully unfolded. The traffic on the streets resembled flowing ribbons of light, passing through the rain-glistened pavement, through the shadows cast by tall buildings, and through unnoticed back alleys, warehouses, and abandoned stairwells.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the city, a young man might be hiding behind an unlocked iron gate, transparent crystals growing inch by inch on his arm in the darkness, listening to a stranger whisper to him—try again, don't be afraid, you will soon become stronger.

Lynn leaned back against the pillows, slowly exhaled, picked up her phone, took pictures of the photos and the metal piece, and sent them to Jason.

A few seconds later, Jason replied with two words.

"receive."

Lynn stared at the two words for two seconds, then locked the screen and put the phone aside.

Four days later, Dr. Burns finally signed the discharge papers.

That morning, the sky over Manhattan was unusually clear. The overcast skies of the past few days had mostly dissipated, leaving only a few wisps of cloud, broken by the wind, floating between the skyscrapers. Sunlight fell on the windows of the seventeenth floor of St. Isabel Hospital, reflecting an almost whitish brightness. Lynn sat by the hospital bed, slowly pulling her shirt sleeve over her left arm, which was still wrapped in bandages. Her movements were slow, and the muscles in her shoulder and back tightened slightly from the movement.

He had changed back into his own clothes. A dark shirt, gray-black trousers, his jacket draped over the back of a chair, his tactical backpack against the foot of the bed, the zipper still badly worn, as if scraped by grit and bone spurs. Compared to when he first woke up, his complexion was much better, and his lips were no longer pale, but his jawline appeared sharper, and the dark circles under his eyes, as if he hadn't slept enough, were still there. The chest strap was hidden under his shirt, and he still couldn't breathe too quickly when he stood up.

Dr. Burns stood at the foot of the bed, tapping the discharge papers with his pen.

"Remember, my discharge doesn't mean you're fully recovered." The old man's tone was as stern as ever. "Don't do strenuous exercise, don't run, don't lift heavy objects, and don't stop taking your medication without consulting a doctor. Come for follow-up appointments and dressing changes every day, and have a chest X-ray in three days. If you develop a fever again or have difficulty breathing, come back immediately."

Lynn buttoned up the last button: "Understood."

Dr. Burns glanced at him sideways: "The way you answer usually only means you heard it, not that you will do it."

"I will try my best."

"That's even less believable than the last one." Burns shoved the file into his hand, then turned to Carmela beside him. "Give him his painkillers and anti-inflammatory medication for today, and his dressing kit too. Also, tell him not to push his left arm too hard. The wound is healing well, but if it bursts open again, I won't be so lenient."

Carmela stood to the side, off duty today, not wearing her nurse's uniform, but only a white knitted top and a dark blue long skirt. Her hair was loosely tied back, lacking the sharp, capable look she had in the ward, but her eyes were still just as focused. She handed the paper bag containing the medicine to Lynn: "It's all here. I've labeled it. It's clear which one to take for breakfast and which one to take for dinner."

Lynn took the paper bag: "You wrote it like it was for someone who can't read."

"Because you seem like the kind of person who would swallow painkillers and anti-inflammatory drugs together and then say 'almost'," Carmela replied calmly.

Dr. Burns snorted, as if in agreement: "She's right."

Lynn, unusually, didn't argue, simply stuffing the medicine bag into the outside of his backpack. Dr. Burns glanced at him again, making sure he didn't show any inclination to jump out the window and run away on the spot, before turning to leave. The moment the door closed, the ward suddenly fell silent.

Carmela stood by the bed, bent down and tucked his discharge papers into a transparent file folder, pausing for a moment as her fingers touched the pages.

"Are you really not planning to stay another day?" she asked.

"If I stay another day, Gwen will nag me to death." Lynn put on his coat, his chest heaving slightly as he raised his hand, but his expression remained unchanged, only his movements slowed down. "She's already planned what to eat tonight."

"Jason came to urge us again yesterday." Carmela handed him the file folder, a hint of helplessness in her eyes. "Do you all think that every day you stay in the hospital will cost you a lifetime's worth of taxes?"

"It's not taxes," Lynn said calmly, taking the documents. "It's just too quiet here."

Carmela glanced at him but didn't respond. A helicopter swept past between the distant buildings outside the window, its low hum coming through the glass and mingling with the scattered sounds of horns from the street below, pulling the hospital back into the everyday life of Manhattan.

Lynn slung his bag over his shoulder, and as he straightened up, his shoulder line stiffened slightly. Carmela noticed and instinctively reached out to steady him. Her palm pressed against the outside of his elbow through his shirt; the temperature was steady. Lynn glanced down, but Carmela seemed oblivious to how natural the gesture was, only frowning: "Don't rush, the elevator isn't going anywhere."

"I'm not in a hurry."

Every time you say "I'm not in a hurry," you look like you're about to chase after someone.

Lynn smiled and said nothing more.

The two left the ward together. The corridor was as bright as ever, the white floor tiles gleaming in the morning light. In the distance, someone was changing shifts at the nurses' station; the beeps of the monitors, the rolling of the gurney wheels, the soft sound of disinfectant being squeezed from the bottle—everything was so familiar, like the background music that had repeated countless times over the past few days. Several nurses saw Carmela, greeted her, and glanced at Lynn with curiosity. Someone whispered, "Discharged?" Carmela nodded, her tone flat: "Yes, finally I can hand this difficult gentleman over to someone outside."

"I heard you," Lynn said.

"I said it on purpose so you could hear it."

As the elevator descended, the car was crammed with several interns clutching medical records and a caregiver pushing a wheelchair. Lynn and Carmela stood in a corner, neither speaking. The elevator doors opened and closed layer by layer, the hurried flow of people and brief conversations characteristic of Manhattan hospitals constantly pouring in and out. Upon reaching the lobby, bright natural light flooded in, carrying with it the warm air from the street and the smell of coffee, making Lynn feel slightly uneasy.

Jason was already waiting at the door.

He was wearing a black jacket, holding a takeaway coffee in his hand, leaning against the gray stone pillar at the hospital entrance. When he saw Lynn come out, he first scanned her from head to toe, his expression somewhere between "okay" and "still looks like she just crawled out of a car accident."

"I'm finally willing to let you go," he said.

"Dr. Burns almost wanted to keep you here for observation as well," Carmela added.

Jason raised an eyebrow: "I'm not in the hospital."

"But the day before yesterday, you secretly brought him unapproved cold brew coffee in his ward." Carmela glanced at the cup in his hand. "So you've been placed on the 17th-floor nurses' station's watch list."

Jason chuckled briefly and handed Lynn another unopened cup of warm black coffee: "Gwen asked me to bring this. It's hot, not iced, so the nurse won't glare at me again."

Lynn took it, and upon smelling the familiar bitter fragrance, his expression finally relaxed somewhat. Carmela looked at the two of them; one had only just recovered from his injury, and the other had clearly not slept enough for several days, yet they both acted as if they had just completed a handover at the hospital entrance, and she couldn't help but let out a soft sigh.

"I'll come back for a follow-up check-up this afternoon," she told Lynn.

"Know."

Don't forget your medicine.

"Know."

"Don't raise your left arm randomly."

"Know."

Jason, listening nearby, almost laughed: "It feels like you're taking a patient who has just learned to walk home."

Carmela glanced at him: "Because sometimes the people in your Special Affairs Department are harder to manage than children."

Lynn lowered his head and took a sip of coffee. It was still bitter, but much better than the bland drinks provided by the hospital. When he looked up, Carmela was standing at the edge of the sunlight. The wind blew a strand of hair that had fallen loose by her ear to her face. She raised her hand to tuck it back, the movement swift, yet somehow revealing a hesitation different from usual.

"Lynn," she called to him.

"Um?"

"Do you have any plans for tonight after you get home?"

Jason glanced at the two of them instantly, his eyes filled with undisguised mockery.

Lynn seemed oblivious, only looking at Carmela: "Not for now."

Carmela pursed her lips, seemingly having prepared a calmer response, but it still sounded a bit stiff when it came out: "If you still have the energy...would you like to come to my place for a bit?"

Jason wisely shifted his gaze elsewhere, pretending to look at the taxis across the street.

Lynn's expression remained unchanged; he simply asked, "Now?"

"No." Carmela shook her head. "Go back and rest first. After your follow-up appointment this afternoon, if you feel alright, I'd like to ask you to come over. You should have seen some of the information I gave you before. Matteo hasn't been home lately, and my landlord has been subtly inquiring about the situation. I... I'd like you to see his room." (End of Chapter)