(Eric's POV)
Four hours. That's what the flight from Beijing costs me, door to door, and I spend every single minute of it doing math I have no data for — how bad, how serious, how much of what I know is even accurate given that half of it came through a connecting flight's spotty wifi and a text from Sean that said, in its entirety, she's stable, get here.
Stable isn't the word you use for good news. I know that much. I've read enough hospital paperwork in my life to know stable is the word they use when the actual news is worse and they're buying themselves time before they have to say it out loud.
I don't sleep on either leg. I don't try.
By the time I get to the recovery room, she's been moved, cleaned up, hooked to a monitor that beeps soft and steady in a rhythm I latch onto the
