They moved Edward to a private treatment room—larger, better equipped, and most importantly, isolated from the chaos of the main hospital.
Emily had shed her jacket, rolled up her sleeves, and tied her hair back with swift, efficient movements. The transformation was striking. Gone was the quiet university student. In her place stood someone else entirely.
Someone who commanded a room without raising her voice.
"I need the following medications," Emily said, rattling off a list that made the attending physician's eyebrows climb toward his hairline. "And before you tell me some of them aren't typically used together, I'm aware. I also don't care about your protocols right now. We're not following standard treatment because standard treatment will kill him."
The doctor Dr. Morrison, according to his name tag bristled. "Miss Blackwood, I understand you're concerned, but I can't authorize"
"Then don't authorize it," Timothy interrupted coldly. "Just get what she asked for. Now."
