Seraphina's Point Of View
The medical clipboard had been stamped with a heavy, definitive red ink that felt like a countdown clock ticking directly inside my chest. Dr. Aris had spent another twenty minutes meticulously laying out the schedule… the dates, the exact times, the aggressive chemical cocktails, and the exact morning I was supposed to report to the oncology wing to let them systematically dismantle my immune system so they could save it.
I don't even remember the drive back to my apartment. My hands had just moved automatically over the steering wheel, my brain entirely numb, operating on some kind of bizarre, detached autopilot while the streetlights of Houston blurred into long, yellow streaks across my windshield.
