𝐏𝐈𝐂𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐅𝐄𝐂𝐓 │ 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐧

𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐘

THE HOSPITAL DOORS BURST OPEN with a rush of cold air as Emberly stumbled inside, her heels clicking erratically against the tiled floor. The fluorescent lights felt harsh, almost intrusive, as if they were exposing every raw nerve she had left. Her breaths came shallow and ragged, each inhale a battle against the tightness in her chest. Blood was smeared across her hands, her dress, and even her face—a stark, horrifying reminder of how close Spencer had been to dying right in front of her. This isn't real, this can't be real.

Spencer lay on a gurney beside her, a breathing mask strapped to his face, his chest barely rising beneath the blood-streaked gauze bandages pressed to his shoulder. Nurses and doctors swarmed around him, their voices overlapping in a symphony of urgency: heart rates, blood pressure, orders for more gauze and saline. Emberly barely registered their words, her focus locked on Spencer's pale, unmoving face.

"Spencer," she whispered, her voice cracking as she reached for him. The warmth of his hand, faint as it was, felt like the only thing tethering her to reality.

"Emberly?"

The male doctor's voice broke through the chaos, snapping her attention away from Spencer. His tone was firm but not unkind. "Emberly, I'm going to have to ask you to wait for your friend in the waiting room."

Her heart jolted. "His name is Spencer, and I can't leave him. He needs me," she said, her grip tightening on the edge of the gurney. She wasn't even aware of the tears streaming down her face until she felt the cold streaks on her cheeks.

"Emberly, we both want the same thing," the doctor said, his tone measured, "but I cannot assess Spencer's wounds until you let us go."

"No! No!" Her voice pitched higher, panic rising in her chest as they turned a corner. Spencer stirred faintly, his head lolling to the side, and Emberly's heart shattered all over again. "Spencer!"

A nurse caught her by the arms, her grip firm but gentle, stopping Emberly from following the gurney as it disappeared down the hall. "You need to get your wrist checked out in triage. This way," the nurse said, steering her back toward another hallway.

"No, wait! I need to be with him!" Emberly cried, her voice trembling as she struggled against the nurse's hold.

"Get my patient an ICU code," the doctor called out from the distance, his voice clipped with authority. "The hospital's officially on lockdown."

Emberly froze, the words cutting through her panic. "What's an ICU code? Why is the hospital on lockdown?" she asked, her voice barely audible over the pounding in her ears.

The nurse, still holding her arms, sighed as they began walking again. "The hospital has a lockdown procedure anytime a minor is admitted with a gang-related violent injury."

Gang-related? Emberly's stomach twisted violently. "Wait... so I can't see him?" she asked, her voice breaking.

"Not until the threat has been eliminated. I'm sorry. The lockdown really is for the patient's safety. A lot of times, rival gang members will try to finish the job in the hospital."

Her legs wobbled, and she stopped walking, her chest heaving as the nurse's words sank in. Finish the job. The phrase echoed in her mind, sharp and merciless. How had they even gotten here? Just an hour ago, Spencer had been smiling, laughing with her. Now, he was barely alive, and she couldn't even hold his hand.

Her vision blurred again, her breath catching in her throat as a sob escaped her lips. Her chest felt impossibly tight, the adrenaline coursing through her making her hands shake uncontrollably. I can't breathe. I can't think. How could this be happening?