For the first time in three years, the silence in the room wasn't broken by a gasp for breath. Elias drifted off, the machine humming a quiet lullaby, finally anchored to a deep, unbroken sea of sleep.

That night, the setup was a ritual. He filled the humidifier chamber with distilled water, clicked the hose into place, and pulled the headgear over his hair. When he pressed the start button, there was no roar, just a gentle, consistent sigh of pressurized air.

He spent the morning navigating the local landscape of medical supply stores. The first stop was a sterile, glass-fronted shop called 'Alpine Medical' tucked between a florist and a bank. Inside, the air smelled of ozone and clean plastic.