"Fifty seconds," Julian announced, his voice devoid of hope. He watched the timer on the screen tick down like a heartbeat headed for cardiac arrest.
I didn't look at the timer. I looked at the medical equipment surrounding Mrs. Thorne.
The hospital room was standard VIP at Aethelgard General—I recognized the beige wallpaper from when I had paid Elara’s rhinoplasty bill two years ago. But the machines were new.
"The infusion pump," I said, my eyes locking onto the sleek black box next to the IV bag. "It's an Ares-IV."
"So?" Cyprian asked, hovering over my shoulder, his muscles coiled tight as if he could punch through the screen to stop the assassin.
"So," I typed furiously, accessing the hospital’s Wi-Fi node I had piggybacked on earlier to pay the bills, "in 2025, the FDA issues a C
