The infirmary seemed suddenly smaller. The moonlight filtering through the tall windows did little to soften the tension that filled the air. Every breath felt heavier, weighed down by the unspoken words and the lingering danger that still hummed around the room. Leon's jaw was tight, eyes flaring with controlled fury as he stood just behind Mia's bed. The faint rise and fall of her chest was a fragile reminder of what had almost been lost—a life that shouldn't have been endangered.
Rachel's eyes glittered like daggers, her golden hair cascading over her shoulders as though perfectly polished to hide every ounce of guilt—or perhaps to flaunt it. She moved with the elegance of someone who believed she belonged everywhere, her voice dripping with the kind of faux concern only she could muster. "Mia," she began, deliberately slow, "I see you've recovered. Good. That's… fortunate."
