Lyra's chest heaved with each labored breath. Her vision blurred as she clung to consciousness, her body sprawled across the cold concrete floor of the holding cell. The metallic taste of blood filled her mouth. She needed help—now.
"Officer," she called, her voice barely above a whisper. "Please."
Her fingers trembled as she pulled herself toward the cell door, each movement sending waves of pain through her abdomen. Black spots danced across her vision. She knew the signs—her anemia was reaching dangerous levels.
The policewoman passing by paused, peering through the small window. "What is it?"
"I need medical attention," Lyra rasped. "Please... my supplements... I have severe anemia."
The officer's expression softened slightly. "Let me check with the medical staff."
Hope flickered in Lyra's chest as the officer's footsteps receded down the hallway. She closed her eyes, focusing on taking shallow breaths to conserve energy.
