Inside the emergency room, the light was harsh and sterile. The nurse had already laid Lyra on the white hospital bed. Her body was calm now—too calm—after that injection.
A monitor beeped steadily beside her, tracking each heartbeat with chilling precision.
The doctor entered the room, a tall man with greying hair and tired eyes. He walked slowly to her bedside, pulling on gloves, while another nurse handed him a clipboard.
He placed his stethoscope on her chest. Her heartbeat was steady. Normal.
He checked her pupils one after the other, then gently turned her head. A bump was already forming at the back. He pressed on it slightly—Lyra flinched, even in unconsciousness.
“She hit her occipital lobe,” he muttered. “That could affect memory, balance... even her vision.”
“Let’s run a s
