Lyra’s POV
The cold, sterile smell of the hospital hit me the moment I stepped inside. My heart was pounding so hard it drowned out every other sound—the murmur of voices, the beep of monitors, the shuffling of feet.
Angela. Critical condition.
The nurse’s words rang in my ears as I approached the counter, my voice trembling as I asked, “Angela… Angela Hayes. Where is she?”
The receptionist barely glanced up, typing away on her computer. “Room 115. Down the hall, second door on your left.”
I didn’t wait for her to finish. My feet moved before my mind could catch up, rushing down the hallway, my breaths coming in short, panicked gasps. My legs felt like jelly, but I pushed forward, ignoring the ache.
When I reached the door marked 115, I paused, my hand hovering over the han
