Chloe
I was at the nurses’ station, checking on our new patients—cleaning wounds, murmuring reassurances—when I felt it in my soul.
Pain.
Sharp. Violent. Wrong.
My hands stilled.
Elijah.
I didn’t think. I ran.
The doors to the hospital burst open just as they wheeled him in on a stretcher. Blood. Too much blood. His skin was pale, his body frighteningly still.
“Elijah!” I ran to him, fear crashing through me, stealing my breath.
His eyes fluttered open. He blinked like it took everything he had to focus.
“Baby,” he breathed.
I grabbed his hand, pressing my forehead to his. “I’m right here, baby. I’m not going anywhere. You’ll be just fine,” I promised, tears spilling freely now.
A doctor stepped in gently but firmly. “Luna, we’re going to need a few minutes to assess and treat
