Gately mute in the Trauma Wing (p. 827)
The sun was starting to go down over the West Newton hills through the double-sealed windows, now, trembling slightly, and the windowlight against the far wall was ruddled and bloody. The heater vents kept making a sound like a distant parent gently shushing. When it starts to get dark out is when the ceiling breathes. And everything like that.
Context
The scene's last lines: dusk arriving, and the breathing ceiling now stated as plain schedule-fact in the narration itself, with Calvin Thrust's verbal tic absorbed into the sentence. The haunting has stopped being something Gately hallucinates and become something the prose lives inside; the wraith arrives with the dark two pages later.