St. Elias Hospital was quieter than a building full of patients should be. There was no chaos, no noise. Just impeccably clean corridors and glances that avoided eye contact.
Volkov and Novak walked past an administrator in an impeccable suit who smiled more than necessary.
“I don’t understand why you’re insisting,” the man said. “These are natural deaths. Complicated cases.”
“We’re not insisting,” Volkov replied. “We’re verifying.”
Novak was already reviewing records on a tablet he’d been given. Too much information. Too organized.
“We want to speak with the patient who was admitted four days ago,” Volkov said. “The one who was transferred from the Central Hospital.”
The administrator hesitated for barely a second.
“He’s stable.”
That wasn’t an answer.
When they arrived at the room, the bed was empty.
“He was transferred this morning,” a nervous nurse explained. “Administrative decision.”
“Transferred to where?” Novak asked.
The nurse lowered her voice.
"Here. To this hospital. All similar cases... are being redirected to St. Elias."
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Volkov turned slowly toward the administrator.
"Why centralize patients without identification or with irregular backgrounds?"
"Resource optimization," the man replied coldly.
Novak interjected:
"Interesting. Because we've found something else. Three patients in the last few months were referred here under similar circumstances. All of them initially refused the transfer."
The nurse spoke again, almost whispering:
"They refused. They said they didn't want to come here. That it wasn't safe."
"And then?" Volkov asked.
The woman swallowed.
"A few days later... they died."
The silence was heavier than any confession.
Volkov requested the complete medical records. The timelines didn't match. The diagnoses changed after the transfer. Medications adjusted without clear justification.
"They're not curing," Novak murmured, comparing dates. "They're concentrating."
"Concentrating what?" Volkov asked.
Novak stared at him.
"Witnesses."
A sound broke the tension. From a room at the end of the hall, a sharp tap against the glass.
A patient stood, holding the IV drip with trembling hands. He stared directly at Volkov.
His lips moved.
Volkov approached.
"No…" the man whispered. "Don't leave me here."
Two nurses rushed over to restrain him.
"He's disoriented," they said.
But before they took him back to bed, the patient managed to say one more thing:
"They don't want us to remember."
Volkov felt that certainty again. It wasn't collective paranoia. These weren't isolated deaths.
It was a pattern.
When they checked the man's file, Novak frowned.
"Marek… your transfer was approved two days ago."
"So?"
"He signed a refusal."
Volkov looked at the digital signature.
It didn't match the previous one.
"Someone's pulling strings," he said quietly.
At that moment, a soft alarm sounded on the hospital's internal system. It wasn't a medical emergency. It was administrative.
The administrator returned, this time without a smile.
"Detectives, I believe your visit is over."
Volkov met his gaze.
"No. It's just beginning."
As they left the hospital, Novak received an urgent notification on his phone.
The patient who had spoken… had just gone into cardiac arrest.
Volkov didn't quicken his pace. Because he already knew what they were going to find. And this time, the case wasn't just open. It was growing.
