The hospital corridor froze in tense silence. All eyes fixed on Roman Sinclair and the envelope clutched in his hand—the document that would either vindicate Lyra or condemn her.
"Give me that," Lyra said, her voice steady despite her racing heart.
Roman crossed the space between them, ignoring Jasper's outstretched hand. Orla's face had gone pale, her knuckles white as she gripped the arms of her wheelchair.
Lyra took the envelope, breaking the seal with deliberate slowness. The paper crinkled as she unfolded the report. Her eyes scanned the clinical language until they landed on the conclusion.
A small smile touched her lips. "Just as I suspected."
Before she could say another word, Colette lunged forward, snatching the report from Lyra's hands.
"Let me see that!" she hissed, her eyes darting frantically across the page.
