CIAN
My hands shook as I grabbed the first shirt I could find. I yanked it over my head. The fabric caught on my shoulder. I didn't care. My fingers fumbled with the buttons.
"Cian, wait—"
I didn't wait. I couldn't. My feet hit the floor hard as I ran. The hallway blurred past me. Paintings on the walls became streaks of color. My pulse hammered in my ears, drowning out everything else.
The infirmary doors loomed ahead. I slammed my palms against them. They swung open so hard they crashed against the walls.
The smell hit me first. Antiseptic mixed with something bitter. Something wrong.
My mother still lay on the bed in the center of the room. Tubes still ran from her arms. Monitors beeped in frantic rhythms that made my chest tighten. Her skin looked gray. Waxy. Like something already dead.
Maren stood over her. Her hands moved quickly across her body. Checking vitals. Adjusting machines. Her jaw was set in a hard line.
