Morning thinned the ward to pale light. Machines clicked and sighed like tired birds. Laurel hadn't slept. She watched Nancy breathe and counted to keep the fear small.
Bootsteps. Voices. The door swung open.
Anderson entered with Ben at his shoulder. Serena came too, wrapped in a fresh cream cardigan, a bandage like a pale ribbon across her cheek where Laurel's hand had landed last night. Her eyes were red, her mouth soft and brave. Two pack orderlies in gray jackets loitered in the hall, pretending to study the fire map.
Dr. Patel glanced up from the chart. “Vitals steady," she said. “If we stay on this curve, I'll request observation status before noon."
“Good," Anderson said. His gaze flicked over Nancy, then steadied on Serena. “Where's the dose?"
“Administered," Dr. Patel said.
