Buzzing against her thigh, the phone vibrated again, an insistent tremor against her skin. Elara, still riding the high of the presentation's success, glanced down. Her blood ran cold. It was Dr. Evans. Not a text from the nurse, not a routine update, but the doctor herself.
Fingers fumbling, she opened the message.
*Emergency. Come to St. Jude's immediately. Luna's vitals dropped unexpectedly. Call me when you're en route.*
The words blurred. Luna. Emergency. Vitals dropped. Her heart lurched, a violent thump against her ribs. The celebratory buzz of the investor meeting vanished, replaced by an icy dread that clawed at her throat.
She needed to go. Now. Panic threatened to overwhelm her, but years of crisis management for her sister had forged a steely resolve. Rhys. He couldn't know.
Scanning the deserted hallway, she moved quickly. Every step was a silent prayer, every breath a desperate plea. Her mind raced, calculating, planning. Rhys was likely still in his study, reviewing notes, perhaps even taking a rare moment to relax.
Snatching her handbag from her office, she considered her options. The company car and driver were out; too many questions. Her old compact car, usually parked off-site, was her only chance for discretion.
Slipping out a side entrance, she bypassed the main lobby and the watchful eyes of security. The cool evening air hit her face, a sharp contrast to the suffocating heat of her fear. Her hands trembled as she unlocked her car, the key shaking in the ignition.
Engine sputtering to life, she reversed out of the parking space. The drive to St. Jude’s was a blur of flashing streetlights and hurried turns. Each red light felt like an eternity, each green light a reprieve, only to be followed by another agonizing stop.
She gripped the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles whitened. Images of Luna, frail and pale in her hospital bed, flashed behind her eyes. *Stay strong, Luna. Please, just hold on.*
Arriving at St. Jude's, she abandoned her car in the first available spot, not caring about parking rules or potential tickets. Rushing through the sliding doors, the sterile scent of disinfectant hit her, a scent she had come to associate with both hope and dread.