Brian’s truck screeched into the hospital parking lot, tires kicking up gravel. He didn’t remember the drive — only the blur of streetlights and the sick knot twisting tighter in his gut with every red light he ignored. He burst through the emergency doors, chest heaving. The sterile smell of antiseptic hit him like a slap. “Lyra Callahan,” he rasped at the nurse behind the desk. “She was brought in earlier. I’m her brother.” The nurse checked her screen. “She’s stable. Room 214. Second floor.” Brian took the stairs two at a time. When he entered the room, the sight hit him hard. His sister looked frail, and the hospital room smelled faintly of antiseptic and cold air conditioning. Brian sat beside the bed, elbows on his knees, hands clasped tight enough to hurt. His eyes hadn’t left Lyra since the doctor walked out. She looked small lying there, an IV taped to her hand, her face pale but no longer as frightening as when he first arrived. A woman dressed in a gold satin long gow
Last Updated : 2026-07-20 Read more