Liana’s POV
The hospital room was too bright and too quiet.
White ceiling. White walls. White sheets that smelled like bleach and nothing else. The IV line in my arm dripped slowly and steady, like it was counting down to something bad.
My head throbbed, like someone had packed my skull with wet cotton and kept pressing harder.
I blinked at the ceiling tiles. One had a brown water stain shaped like a sad face.
I tried to sit up. Then the room tilted.
A nurse came in, her steps quick,she had tired eyes, with a clipboard in hand.
“Easy now. You hit your head when you fainted. Concussion. We’re keeping you overnight.”
I touched the bandage on my forehead. Small. Sticky.
“What time is it?”
“Almost 8 p.m. Your colleagues said you collapsed in the office. Graham McFadden called the amb
