GINA’S POV
The hallway stretched endlessly before me, a blur of sterile white walls and flickering fluorescent lights. My legs moved, but they weren’t mine anymore—just numb, mechanical things carrying me forward while my mind splintered apart.
The file in my hands—Bernard’s file—bit into my palms, the sharp edges drawing blood. I barely noticed. The pain was nothing compared to the raw, gaping wound in my chest.
Breathe. Just breathe.
But I couldn’t. Every inhale was fire, every exhale a shuddering betrayal. My vision swam as I stumbled into the waiting room downstairs, the murmurs of strangers fading into a distant hum. The nearest bench creaked under my weight as I collapsed onto it, clutching the folder to my chest like it could somehow shield me from the truth.
It couldn’t.
The
