''Tell me how it feels,'' he whispers.
"Good," I gasp, my entire body trembling. Deeper. Harder. Perfect -- like we've been doing this for years.
His hand finds my jaw, fingers firm as he tilts my head up, making me look at him. And that's it.
Wav...
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ᖴO᙭
Where is she?
I burst through another set of doors. The visitor's pass slaps against my chest.
Where is she?
My shoes skid on the linoleum, the air cold and sterile, filling my lungs in sharp, shallow gasps. The fluorescent lights overhead buzz louder and louder and louder—
Where is she?
My vision is a blur of white walls and navy scrubs. My hands tremble at my sides. My chest heaves. The edges of the world close in. Cam's voice is behind me, distant, calling my name. I ignore it. Keep moving.
Where is she?
Then I see Jed.
He's sitting in a chair in the hallway, black sweater loose on his frame, hands clasped between them. He doesn't move, doesn't blink, just stares into nothing.
I sprint past him—right to the glass door.
𝙄𝘾𝙐 𝟒𝟐𝟒
I lunge for it, yanking the handle—locked.
I yank again.
And again.
It doesn't budge. The small window in the door shows me everything and nothing at once.
No, god no. Please no.
Chris is pale as paper. Tubes. Wires. Machines. All of it—so much of it—going in and coming out of her.
"No," I choke out, my voice raw. My fingers grip the handle tighter, shaking it until my knuckles ache. "No. No."
"Fox." Cam's hand is on my arm, her voice trembling. "Please stop."
I can't stop.
My palm slams against the glass, the impact reverberating through the hallway. The machines in the room beep steadily, indifferent, as though the person they're keeping alive is justsomeone.
"Open the door!" My voice cracks, louder now, desperate.
Inside, her heart rate spikes. The monitors go wild, their shrill alarms cutting through the air like sirens.
