The deep medical lab is quiet, save for the rhythmic, mechanical hiss of the ventilator and the steady, rapid beeping of the cardiac monitors. It is a sound that has become as familiar to me as my own heartbeat, a metronome counting down the seconds of our survival.
I wake to the smell of antiseptic, burnt sugar, and the sharp, metallic tang of ozone. My left arm is completely numb, a dead weight resting on the sterile sheets, while my right hand grips the edge of the mattress so tightly my knuckles are white. The pain isn't localized to my shoulder or my ribs. It is a diffuse, blinding static that crackles behind my eyes and vibrates in the marrow of my bones.
"Her neural pathways are severely inflamed," Margot says softly. She is standing over me, her face pale, her silver-streaked hai
