KAEL:
The doctor was calm, maddeningly calm, as he moved around her. He checked her pulse, her pupils, his stethoscope pressing against her chest. His questions were gentle but precise, his hands practiced and steady.
Meanwhile I couldn't stop pacing at the bedside like a madman. Every sound she made... every shift of breath, felt like a dagger in my ribs.
"She fainted in the shower," I rasped, voice raw. "She was shivering, cold, barely coherent... "
"Señor Roman," Alvarez, the doctor, interrupted gently, not unkindly. "Her condition, while serious, is not unusual. She's stable now. You may sit."
I did, but only because my legs threatened to give out. I sat beside her, my hand closing around hers. She was so small in the bed, swallowed up by blankets.
The doctor finished his checks, straightened, and gave me that professional tone I hated. The one that felt like he was speaking across a canyon I couldn't cross.
