Lana's POV.
Time behaves oddly when your child is unwell.
It stretches and compresses all at once every second in that room feels both endless and terrifyingly fleeting. I made my way to Jacob's bedside in just four strides, pressing the back of my hand against his forehead before I even realized I was moving. The heat radiating from his skin sent a chilling jolt straight through my chest. It was too high, way too high.
"Jacob." I cradled his face in my hands. His eyelids fluttered. "Sweetheart, look at me."
He turned toward my voice just like he always had, even as a tiny baby, and for a brief moment, something inside me relaxed. But then his eyes opened, and I noticed the glassy look in them — that particular unfocused gaze I had seen creep into the eyes of three confirmed patients o
