The Jeep screeched into the emergency bay with a howl of burning rubber, tires smoking as it jerked to a violent stop. I was already out the door before the engine died, Lila cradled in my arms—limp, too light, too still.
The automatic doors hissed open like a reluctant confession. Fluorescent lights slammed into us, harsh and unforgiving, stripping away the night. The air hit next, thick with antiseptic sting, metallic blood, and the sour undercurrent of raw fear.
"I NEED HELP—NOW!" My roar cracked through the sterile hush.
Heads snapped toward us. A nurse behind the desk jolted upright. Two orderlies froze mid-sentence, mouths open.
Ava was already there, slamming her Agent ID onto the counter like a gauntlet thrown. "Ava Voss. Best trauma team you have. VIP suite, fifth floor. Move."
The nurse opened her mouth, stammering, "Ma'am, protocol requires—"
