The beeping of machines. The clinical scent of disinfectant. Cruxius stood by Seleyena's side—her body strapped to the monitoring systems, her cheeks flushed crimson, her skin gleaming with sweat under the pale hospital lights.
A female doctor entered, flanked by two nurses.
As she entered, within the room was a woman lying on the bed, two others standing nearby, and the third—a man—whose eyes lingered on her for a moment, as if sending a secret, knowing glance.
The doctor's eyes scanned the vitals and readouts quickly, her brows knitting together. She had already been informed about the dialogues she was meant to say.
She wasn't here to offer a remedy—but to play her part.
"This isn't a drug." Her voice was firm, clinical. "She's under the influence of a supernatural hormonal surge. An ability—possibly psychic in nature—targeting her endocrine balance. If not stabilized, it could result in multi-organ failure or even death."
'!?'
