Derek, Nana and Declan stood outside the room, waiting with bated breaths. The silence between them thick enough to choke on.
Nana had her head resting against Derek's chest, tears slipping down her cheeks, as she whispered continuous prayers under her breath.
Derek held her with one arm, his hand stroking slowly up and down her arm, offering what comfort he could while his own eyes stayed fixed on the closed door.
Declan stood a little apart, arms folded, his face set in that familiar mask of quiet worry.
The door finally opened and Dr Lorenzo stepped out, pulling down his mask. He looked tired but relieved.
"He's stable," the doctor said. "The bleeding has stopped. We're transfusing him now."
Nana made a small broken sound of relief and pressed her face harder into Derek's chest.
"Thank the goddess," she whispered.
