Symere, a young girl recruited as a holder at just 11 years old, uses her innocent appearance to outsmart everyone in the dangerous world of drugs and guns. When the talented Artist enters the fray, he becomes both a rival and a potential love inter...
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The harsh buzz of fluorescent lights cut through the sterile air of the hospital, illuminating the silence with a cold clarity. Symere lay motionless in her bed, her once vibrant spirit now subdued behind the lifelessness of her injured body. Monitors beeped rhythmically beside her, a steady reminder of life clinging to the edge of uncertainty. Each beep echoed through the stark halls, a sound both familiar and terrifying for those who waited with bated breath.
In the cramped room, Artist sat slumped in a chair, his head resting in his hands. His heart raced at the sight of Symere, tubes and wires snaking across her pale skin like intrusive vines. Memories of their last moments loomed over him. The intense fight with Glock had been brutal, he'd seen her bravery but had underestimated the lengths to which the confrontation could go. Now, she was fighting for her life, and the reality of losing her felt like a vice tightening around his chest.
Artist lifted his head, his eyes glazing over with tears. The hospital waiting area felt like a prison, and he could feel the weight of panic threatening to swallow him whole. He thought of their dreams, plans for the future, all the little moments they had shared. The mundane aspects of life, quiet mornings, spontaneous laughter, whispered secrets, felt so far away. How had they ended up here, battling for the very breath of life?
Suddenly, the door swung open, and Chosen, Symere's father, stepped in. His face was a mask of anguish, his eyes red-rimmed and swollen from lack of sleep and the tears he had fought to hold back.
"Where is she?" Chosen's voice cracked, heavy with emotion.
"She... she's fighting, man. They say she's in a coma. They don't know when, if, she'll wake up," Artist said quietly, his throat tightening at the words.
Artist sat in the waiting room of the hospital, his heart pounding with concern and anxiety. The white fluorescent lights overhead flickered, reflecting his mood fragmented and uncertain. Just hours ago, his world had come crashing down when he watched that bullet enter her body. Now, he was waiting for news, praying that the woman he loved would wake from her coma.
Outside the rain tapped rhythmically against the glass, mirroring his own inner turmoil. An ache radiated through his chest as thoughts of Symere flooded his mind. They had been inseparable for the last year, sneaking moments together when no one was watching, their love a beautiful secret wrapped in the joy of their shared laughter and whispered dreams. But none of it mattered if Symere didn't wake up.
It was just then that the door swung open, and the doctor stepped into the room, her expression somber. Artist, Chosen, India, and Mizani rose to their feet, dread pooling in the pit of their stomach as she gestured for them to take a seat again.
"Mr. Harris," she began, her voice calm but laced with gravity, "I wish I had better news for you. Your daughter remains in a coma. We are monitoring her condition closely, but she isn't responding as we had hoped."
