doesn’t know who to trust.”
I understood.
Neither did I.
Then Blythe crashed.
The monitors screamed.
Nurses rushed in.
Her blood pressure collapsed.
Jonah began seizing seconds later.
For twenty minutes, there was no world outside that room.
Doctors moved around my children.
Commands.
Medication.
Numbers.
Machines.
I stood against the wall because there was nowhere else to stand.
And for once, Lawson Mercer could do absolutely nothing.
Then Yates shouted for the experimental infusion.
Elena’s cells.
The treatment wasn’t ready.
Not officially.
Not safely.
Not according to any protocol.
But death was already in the room.
Yates looked at me.
I nodded.
“Do it.”
They began with Blythe.
Then Jonah.
I watched clear liquid travel through the tubes.
No miracle happened.
No sudden opening of eyes.
No music.
No impossible medical resurrection.
Just numbers slowly becoming less terrible.
At midnight, Blythe stabilized.
At one thirty, Jonah’s fever broke.
At
