Seren's small hands pressed against the cold glass of the door. The sound of the "code blue" alarm felt like it was vibrating inside her own chest.
"Mommy! Mommy! Mommy!"
Each cry was thinner than the last, raw and ragged, as she watched the doctors crowd around the bed, their shadows dancing frantically against the privacy curtains. She reached for the handle, but the world suddenly felt too big, and she felt too small.
Just as her knees began to give way, a firm, warm weight settled on her shoulder. It wasn't the frantic touch of a nurse or the clinical grip of a guard. It was steady. Solid.
"It's okay, Seren," a voice murmured, deep and laced with a grief that matched her own.
Seren froze, her tear-stained face tilting upward. She blinked through the haze of salt and fear. "Seren, right?" the man asked softly.
