The door didn't just open; it surrendered.
A girl stormed in with the kind of presence that suggested she usually led cavalry charges before breakfast.
She looked to be about sixteen, with messy black hair tied back loosely and amber eyes that blazed with a terrifying level of annoyance. Her hands were planted firmly on her hips, and she radiated an aura of pure, unadulterated fury—the kind that made you want to apologize for existing even if you hadn't done anything wrong.
"What did I tell you three about bothering patients?!" she snapped at the children, her voice sharp enough to cut glass. "He's injured! He needs rest! Not you three pestering him with a million questions while he's barely holding onto consciousness!"
The three kids flinched like they'd been caught stealing cookies from a locked cupboard.
"But big sis!" the little girl whined, pointing a trembling finger at me. "He's a narcissistic handsome demon! We had to check!"
