Desmond Loupé
Desmond strode into the hospital, his long legs eating up the distance to the front desk with each purposeful step. His jaw was set, his hands clenched into fists at his sides, and his pulse was an erratic drum in his ears. He barely noticed the bright overhead lights or the antiseptic scent that clung to every inch of the emergency ward. All he could think about was Cassie.
"Hi, I’m looking for Cassandra Kane’s room," Desmond said, his voice tight with barely contained frustration. His fingers tapped against the counter, a sharp, repetitive motion as he fought the urge to demand answers.
The nurse at the front desk, a woman in her late fifties with sharp eyes and a no-nonsense demeanor, regarded him with a professional but unimpressed look. She was used to dealing with an
