As soon as the plane touched down, Camila was the first one out of her seat, practically sprinting through the terminal.
She grabbed a taxi, her voice tight with urgency. "Médica Sur, por favor. Rápido."
The taxi driver, sensing her distress, nodded and sped off, weaving through the city's chaotic traffic. The journey was a blur of honking horns, crowded streets, and towering buildings. Camila pulled out her phone, dialing Rachel's number, her heart pounding in her chest.
"Rachel..." Camila's voice trembled, strained with a 20-hour flight's worth of fear. "How is he? Is he stable now?"
"Camila," Rachel's voice was low, heavy. "He... he hasn't regained consciousness. They're still running tests, but... it's not good."
Camila's breath hitched. "What? What do you mean, 'not good'?"
"His
