The morning sun hit the tall glass facade of St. Jude’s Hospital, casting long, sharp shadows across the concrete courtyard.
Seraphina stood at the end of the second-floor corridor, her dark wool coat pulled tight around her frame. For three long, agonizing years, this building had been her prison. The sharp, bitter scent of floor disinfectant and rubbing alcohol still made her jaw tighten with an instinctive dread. But today, she didn't flinch. She didn't have a cane in her hand, and she didn't need anyone to lead her. She walked straight down the center of the polished linoleum floor, her heels striking the ground with a rhythmic, steady click.
Behind her, two tall, sharp-eyed security guards from Damien’s private detail kept a discreet ten-pace distance. They scanned every passing doc
