The atmosphere in the medical ward still carried the remnants of the chaos that had occurred minutes before, but now everything seemed strangely stable. The air was clean, the equipment was emitting its regular, controlled sounds again, and at the center of it all, Natasha sat on the stretcher, breathing without any assistance. The mask that had previously covered her face was tossed aside, forgotten as if it had never been essential to keeping her alive.
Charlotte moved around her with precision, analyzing every detail with almost obsessive attention. Her fingers pressed specific points, checking muscle response, skin temperature, respiratory rate. The stethoscope was used more than once, not out of immediate need, but because she simply didn't trust what she was seeing without repeatedly confirming it.
