"Weight?"
"I don't know. Light."
"Is she able to swallow?"
"She drinks a little."
"Pulse?"
Dante crossed the room and knelt beside the couch. He took her wrist and counted against the clock on his phone. "Fast. A hundred and twenty. More."
"Her breathing?"
"Shallow."
"Listen to me carefully," the doctor said. "The medicine won't reach her for some hours. Between now and then, there is a real chance she'll have a seizure. If she does, this is what you do. You move anything hard away from her. You put something soft under her head. You turn her onto her side. You put nothing in her mouth. You do not hold her down. And you time it."
"Understood." Dante said.
"If it runs past five minutes, or comes back, you call an ambulance. I don't care who you are or who is looking for you. Do you understand that?"
Dante looked at Isabella's face, gray against the cushion.
"Yes," he said.
"Good. I'll stay on the line."
"She hasn't had one yet."
