chapter one: where angels turn their heads
The siren did not merely sound; it screamed, tearing through the heavy afternoon air like a desperate, dying animal. Inside the ambulance, the scent of copper and charred fabric was suffocating. Six-year-old Camilla lay frozen on the gurney, her small body swallowed by a uniform that was once pristine-now reduced to blackened rags clinged to raw, scorched skin. Beside her, the erratic, ragged breathing of her mother, Mrs. Bianca, suddenly ceased. The heart monitor gave one continuous, low, flatline hum. The paramedics did not say a word; they simply stopped working, their silent stillness marking the moment Bianca slipped away into the dark.
When the ambulance screeched to a halt at the emergency entrance, the rear doors flew open. Rain began to fall-not a gentle drizzle, but a cold, violent downpour that washed over the pavement like a deluge of tears.
Mr. Salvator sprinted from his car, his shoes skidding against the wet asphalt. His lungs burned, but the agony in his chest was worse. He lunged forward as a heavy, black body bag was wheeled out behind his daughter's stretcher, but Richard and two nurses caught him.
"Let me go! Bianca! Bianca!" he sobbed, his voice cracking, reduced to a hollow, broken shell as he collapsed into the cold rain, held back only by Richard's trembling grip.
Hours bled together in the dim, sterile hallway. The smell of disinfectant blended with the damp chill of Salvator's rain-soaked coat. He sat paralyzed, staring at his hands, which were stained with ash and rainwater.
When the double doors of the operating theater finally creaked open, Salvator bolted upright. He lunged at the doctor, grabbing the man's lapels with white-knuckled desperation, his eyes bloodshot and pleading.
"Tell me... tell me my Camilla made it. Please. Tell me she's alive."
The doctor's expression was heavy, hollowed out by the tragedy he had just witnessed. He didn't pull away; he simply let out a weary breath. "We are... fifty percent sure she will survive the night, Mr. Salvator."
Richard bowed his head, a quiet, muffled sob escaping his chest as he stared at the cold tile floor.
"She has suffered severe, third-degree burns across her body... across her face," the doctor continued, his voice barely above a whisper. "The heat... it damaged her eyes as well. We must perform urgent, high-risk surgery immediately to save her life. But even if she survives... the physical scars will never leave her. And her sight..."
"Save her," Salvator begged, his tears falling onto the doctor's coat, his pride completely shattered. "Do whatever it takes. Just don't let her die too..."
Before the doctor could answer, clicking heels echoed sharply down the corridor. Octavia rushed in, her mascara slightly smudged, a look of exaggerated anguish draped over her face. She paid no attention to the quiet devastation hovering in the air.
"What am I hearing?!" Octavia cried out, her voice striking the hallway like shattered glass.
Richard averted his eyes, jaw clenching as he looked at his boss. Salvator didn't even turn his head. He remained frozen, hollowed out by grief.
"Can someone please tell me what happened?" Octavia wrapped her arms around Salvator, pulling his stiff body into a dramatic embrace, sniffing loudly against his shoulder. "God... I can't believe it. I can't believe they're both gone..."
Salvator slowly pulled back. His voice was deathly quiet, devoid of warmth, dripping with absolute agony.
"My daughter is alive."
Octavia froze. Her tears vanished, replaced by a sudden, sharp stillness. Her eyes widened, a flicker of cold surprise slipping through her carefully crafted facade before she quickly forced her face back into a tragic smile.
"Oh... she survived! Thank God..."
Salvator didn't hear her. He turned back to the physician, his voice trembling with the fragile hope of a broken father. "Doctor... please. Proceed with everything. Just keep her breathing."
"Yes, sir," the doctor replied solemnly, turning back toward the heavy theater doors, leaving Salvator alone in the quiet, merciless chill of the hospital hall.
