Mira was chopping vegetables for tomorrow's Christmas feast when her phone rang. Violet's name flashed on the screen.
"Mira, it's Brielle. She's at Silverstone Medical Center. Allergic reaction."
The knife clattered to the cutting board. "I'm coming."
She didn't think. Didn't grab her coat. Just her keys and her medical bag, muscle memory from years of emergency calls overriding everything else.
Violet drove while Freya sat quietly in the back, sensing the urgency. They made it to the hospital in fifteen minutes.
Mira found Brielle's room immediately—she could navigate Silverstone Medical Center blindfolded after all her volunteer shifts. She pushed through the door and stopped short.
Kieran stood on one side of the bed. Astrid sat on the other, holding Brielle's hand.
