But leaving him there felt worse.
Some debts aren’t meant to wait for paperwork.
“Put him down. Now.”
A security guard’s voice echoed through the lobby.
I kept walking, calm and steady. My boots squeaked against the polished floor. The old man rested his head against my shoulder. His breathing was shallow but steady, and he smelled faintly of antiseptic and rain.
“I’m okay,” he murmured. “Don’t cause trouble.”
“Not trouble,” I said. “We’re just leaving.”
Hospital staff hurried beside us.
“Sir, he’s still under observation,” a nurse said, reaching toward the IV port in his arm.
“Observation ended when the insurance did,” I replied.
The words came out sharper than I intended.
Whispers spread through the room.
A woman near the vending machine murmured, “Is he kidnapping him?”
Phones tilted for better angles. Someone began streaming live. A man in a suit stepped aside like I was carrying something dangerous.
To them, I looked like force.
Leather. Tattoos. Size.
A stereotype walking across hospital tiles.
“Sir, put the patient down,” another guard said, hand hovering near his radio. “You’re interfering with medical procedures.”
“I signed the discharge,” I answered.
They paused.
“Are you family?”