Artom stood by the door, his gaze fixed on the masked man lying on the bed, a sense of confusion swirling within him. The sight of the mysterious figure, shrouded in black and injured, raised more questions than answers.
As the pharmacist and the old priest worked diligently to treat the stranger, Artom felt the need to step back. He stepped outside and turned to his father, concern etched on his face. "Father, who is he?"
Arar glanced at his son, a shadow of worry crossing his features. "He's just a subordinate who has followed me for many years," he replied, his tone evasive.
"A subordinate?" Artom echoed, taken aback. He sensed that the situation was far more complex than his father was willing to reveal, but he respected Arar's reticence and chose not to press further.
"By the way, what's become of your subordinate, Carl?" Arar asked, redirecting the conversation.