RAVENNA

Part 30

Nieve woke with a jolt, her body drenched in sweat, chest heaving. The nightmare had returned—the one with the screaming pregnant woman. Each echo of that scream seemed to crush her lungs tighter. She clawed for air, ragged, uneven breaths tearing at her throat.

Esme, already accustomed to these night terrors, threw her blanket aside and rushed to her side.

"Nieve, are you okay?" she asked, her voice trembling.

No response.

"You—wait, are you having trouble breathing? Oh, God!" Esme panicked, fumbling with the latch on the window. She shoved it open, letting in the cool night air.

Nieve bent forward, pounding her chest as if trying to dislodge something. Her breaths came in shallow bursts, threatening to spiral into hyperventilation.

Seeing the situation slipping out of control, Esme bolted into the hallway.

"Professor Luella! We need help!" she cried, banging on doors. "Senior Nikolai!"

The professor appeared, robe hastily tied, other students peering out in confusion. "What on earth is the shouting about, Miss Montgomery?"

"It's Nieve—she can't breathe! Hurry!"

Esme didn't wait for questions; she dashed upstairs, the group following close behind.

In the room, Nieve's face had flushed crimson from lack of oxygen, her chest rising in frantic spasms. Professor Luella immediately stepped forward, assessing the scene with sharp eyes.
"Get her to the infirmary—quickly!" she ordered.

Without hesitation, Nikolai scooped Nieve into his arms. Esme followed, pale and shaking.

At the doorway, Rob appeared, startled.

"Mr. Snyder," the professor snapped, "fetch the Headmistress at once. Tell her it's urgent."

Rob nodded and sprinted off in the opposite direction.

They burst into the infirmary, where Dr. Larissa hurried forward. Nikolai laid Nieve gently onto the bed.

Nieve lay trembling on the infirmary cot, chest rising and falling too fast, each breath ragged. Her face was pale, her lips tinged faintly blue.

Dr. Larissa bent over her with sharp efficiency; stethoscope pressed against her ribcage. "Her pulse is racing—tachycardia," she muttered, voice clipped. "That explains the dizziness and shortness of breath. If it escalates, it could put dangerous strain on her heart."

She retrieved an oxygen mask from the side cabinet and slipped it over Nieve's face, securing the straps. The soft hiss of flowing oxygen filled the tense room. "Steady, child. Inhale from nose deep and slow. Don't fight it."

Esme pressed a cool cloth to Nieve's damp forehead, glancing nervously between the doctor and her friend.
"Is she—she's going to be alright, isn't she?"

"For now," Dr. Larissa replied, adjusting the mask. "Her heart needs to slow down. She's overheated too—keep refreshing that cloth."

The door creaked open, and the air in the room seemed to shift. Headmistress Sybbyl entered, her dark night robe gathered loosely around her tall frame. Even in the late hour, her presence silenced everyone. She stepped closer, eyes narrowing at the sight of Nieve lying pale beneath the infirmary lantern light.

Her tone was cool, but sharp with concern.
"Larissa, Diagnosis?"

"Tachycardia." Dr. Larissa straightened. " Likely triggered by stress, but I can't rule out an underlying condition. I'll need to run further tests to be certain."