The doctor's expression softened as he approached the waiting group. "Mrs. Moreau is out of immediate danger. Her condition has stabilized."
The words hung in the air for a moment before Lachlan's knees buckled. Percival moved quickly, catching the older man before he hit the floor.
"Thank you," Lachlan whispered, his voice breaking. All the fury had drained from him, leaving behind only exhaustion and relief. "Thank you, God."
The doctor nodded. "We'll be moving her to a ward shortly. She'll need complete rest, but her vitals are improving."
As Percival helped Lachlan to a nearby chair, Orla's eyes locked on Lyra. The hatred in them was palpable, a living thing that seemed to crackle in the sterile hospital air.
"This doesn't change anything," she hissed, stepping closer to Lyra. "You heard Father. You're killing her slowly, day by day."
