Brielle’s POV
The hospital waiting room was suffocating in its stillness.
White walls. Pale blue seats. The scent of antiseptic. The quiet hum of machines behind thick doors. It was the kind of quiet that didn’t soothe, only amplified the sound of fear gnawing at your chest.
Brielle sat hunched forward in one of the chairs, fingers laced together so tightly her knuckles ached. Her eyes hadn’t left the floor in hours. Just gray tiles. Just the memory of her father collapsing.
Adrian was beside her, one hand on her back, a silent comfort. He hadn’t said much since they arrived—only brought her water, coaxed her to breathe, stayed close without pushing too hard. His presence, steady and patient, was the only anchor she had.
Across the room, Fiona stood near the vending machine, staring b
