At first glance, the man looked like someone most people would avoid.
He was huge. Nearly six and a half feet tall, broad shoulders stretching the leather vest across his back. His arms were covered in faded tattoos—skulls, eagles, military insignias, and old ink that had clearly been etched into his skin many years earlier. His beard was thick and dark, streaked with a little gray, and his boots were heavy enough to echo against the pavement whenever he walked.
But the strange thing was—
He wasn’t walking.
He was kneeling.
Right on the cold concrete outside the hospital entrance.
The late afternoon air was sharp with winter chill, and gusts of wind whipped through the hospital plaza, rattling the automatic glass doors behind him. People hurried in and out of the building, clutching coats tighter around their bodies.
