The specialized Intensive Care Unit of the Bank of Duskhaven General Hospital was a sanctuary of high-tech silence. Unlike the chaotic, linoleum-scented halls of the public ER, this wing featured thick, sound-dampening carpets and air filtration systems that hummed at a frequency barely perceptible to the human ear. Here, private nurses provided twenty-four-hour bedside vigilance, ensuring that every fluctuation in a patient's vitals was met with immediate clinical precision.
In this cocoon of medical luxury, Sienna Flynn finally allowed the tension to drain from her shoulders. Her father lay amidst a sea of white linens, his breathing stabilized by the rhythmic hiss of a high-end ventilator. Once the immediate terror had subsided, however, a different kind of unease took root. She turned
