Emily was rushed straight to the hospital after the rescue, wheeled pale and limp into emergency where she stayed unconscious for five gruelling hours—fever spiking ruthless under crisp sheets, skin flushed hot and slick, shallow breaths ragged as monitors beeped urgent warnings, her scent already leaking faint distress.
All the alphas paced the sterile waiting room tense as coiled wires, worry carving deep lines on their faces—Hellen gripping chair arms white-knuckled her honey-citrus souring anxious, Reyes staring blank at the floor fists clenched with cedar-steel spiking sharp, Ivory barking quiet updates into her radio, chili pheromones crackling lethal edge in the thick air.
Finally, Ana burst from the operation theatre doors—her vibrant cyan hair wild under the surgical cap, hands tugging off four sweat-damp masks in one frustrated yank, face beet-red flushed and glistening as she stormed toward them glaring daggers, fluorescents glinting off her glasses.
