CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN:THE WAITING ROOM
The waiting room was quiet except for the distant hum of machines and the occasional echo of hurried footsteps. The fluorescent lights buzzed faintly overhead, casting sterile light across Damien as he sat rigid in one of the plastic chairs, his elbows on his knees, hands clutched together so tightly his knuckles were white. He kept replaying it all. Arielle's pale face. The way her body felt limp in his arms. The sound of Nina’s panicked voice as she called for help. And now, the unknown. He hated this part more than anything—the not knowing. Nina sat beside him, her presence calm and quiet. She hadn’t spoken much since they arrived, just offered a steady presence, occasionally brushing a tear from her cheek. "She’s strong," Nina said finally, her voice soft. "You know she is." Damien
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