Chapter 95
~ Franklin ~
The limo hadn't even come to a complete halt before I was out the door. I didn't wait for Walter to kill the engine; I simply ran.
The sliding glass doors hissed open, admitting me into a world of clinical white light, the sharp tang of antiseptic, and the low, frantic hum of a city's collective trauma. I ignored the triage line, as I reached the high granite counter of the reception desk.
"Octavia Herman," I said. My voice was a jagged blade, cutting through the receptionist's routine. "She was just brought in. Stairwell accident. Where is she?"
The nurse behind the desk, a woman whose face was etched with the weariness of a double shift, looked up.
Her professional mask faltered for a fraction of a second as she took in my disheveled hair, the expensive suit, and the raw, predatory desperation in my eyes.
"Are you immediate family, sir?" she asked, her fingers already hovering over the keyboard.
