The Lewis Center hospital smelled of antiseptic and desolation, a sour mix that clung to the throat. The buzzing lights in the entrance hall cast a pale glow on the beige walls, where yellowed infection prevention posters hung. Hassan and Kaiser walked through the automatic doors, their sneakers squeaking on the worn linoleum. Hassan, his glasses slightly crooked, adjusted his gray sweatshirt, his nervous gaze scanning the reception. Kaiser, true to his nonchalant demeanor, chewed gum, hands buried in the pockets of his black hoodie, his eyes still a bit too bright from the residue of his antidepressants.
The receptionist, a fifty-something woman with gray hair pulled into a bun, tapped lazily on her keyboard. Her badge read "Martha." Hassan approached, clearing his throat. "Uh, hello. Excuse me. We're here to see a patient who's being discharged today. Carter Hakim."
Martha looked up, her glasses sliding down her nose.
"Hold on, let me check..."