As soon as Ana twisted the doorknob and pushed the door open, a heavy ceramic vase hurtled toward her like a missile, slicing through the stale hospital air with a whistle that screamed warning. Emily's aim was deadly precise, fuelled by raw betrayal.
Ana reacted on pure, animal instinct—her body twisting sharply to the side in a blur of motion. The vase exploded against the wall behind her in a violent shatter of porcelain shards and water, spraying across the floor like shrapnel.
The sharp crack echoed through the room, freezing everyone in place for a heartbeat, the acrid scent of spilled flowers—lilies, maybe—mixing with the metallic tang of fear.
Inside, the nurses stood rooted like statues, their faces drained of colour. Emily was already on her feet, shrugging off the thin patient gown that hung loosely on her frame, her bare feet planted defiantly on the cold tile.
