Lyra
“The truth is… your father’s condition is getting worse, Ms. Lyra.”
That was the first thing the doctor said when I asked about him. Her voice was steady and polite, but her face gave everything away. She looked tense—like she didn’t want to be the one to break the news, but had to anyway.
And she wasn’t wrong.
Father didn’t look good.
When Lewis and I arrived at the hospital earlier, the sight that greeted us made my chest tighten. For a moment, I honestly thought I was seeing it wrong. That maybe this wasn’t him. That maybe I’d walked into the wrong room.
But it was him. Still unconscious… but worse. So much worse than the last time I saw him. His face looked thinner, more hollow. His breathing was shallow, uneven, like every rise and fall of his chest was a battle he was bare
