Briar Point of View
The sterile hum of the monitors hadn't just kept Michaela alive; it had woven a cruel, hypnotic illusion of safety that finally dragged Briar down into a restless, shallow sleep.
Wrapped in a scratchy hospital blanket that smelled of harsh detergent and stale despair, she rested her head against the unforgiving vinyl of the chair.
Across the small room, bathed in the sickly green glow of the screens, Driven sat like a statue. His eyes were bloodshot, his jaw set so tightly the muscle leaked tension into the room, staring at their daughter as if his gaze alone could force her heart to keep beating.
The silence of the pediatric ICU was thick, heavy, suffocating.
Then, it shattered.
A ragged, wet, choking gasp fractured the quiet.
Briar’s eyes flew open, the viole
