The sterile stench of rubbing alcohol, burnt coffee, and ozone hung heavy in the air of the St. Jude Memorial Hospital VIP surgical wing. The world outside had faded into a blurred expanse of weeping asphalt and sirens, but inside, time had slowed to an excruciating, agonizing crawl.
Elena sat frozen in the corner of the private waiting area, her knees pulled tightly to her chest on a cream-colored leather sofa that felt far too pristine for the horror she carried. She was a ghost haunting a palace of glass and chrome. The midnight storm had wrecked her appearance; her hair was a matted, damp web across her shoulders, her face was streaked with a mixture of dried shipyard mud and salt, and her clothes were completely ruined.
But the worst of it was on her skin.
She looked down at her ha
