Chapter 8 - The Hostage of FateI didn't wait for Nico. I bolted out of the consultation room, my bare feet slamming against the hard linoleum tile as I sprinted down the corridor. My breath came in ragged, hyperventilating gasps. Every muscle in my body screamed, but I didn't stop.
Not my baby. Please, God, not my baby.
When I burst through the doorway of Room 204, the scene was pure chaos.
Three doctors and four nurses surrounded the cot. Dr. Vance was already pressing down on Leo’s chest with frantic, desperate rhythms, while a nurse jammed a large-bore syringe directly into the central line.
"His body is rejecting the initial transfusion!" Vance screamed over the wailing monitor. "The synthetic markers are tearing through his white blood cells! We need the secondary sample from Mr. Hayes right now—where is he?!"
I pushed past a nurse, throwing myself onto the side of the bed, grabbing Leo’s tiny, ice-cold hand. It was limp. His lips were turning a frightening shade of blue, his chest barely rising under Vance’s heavy hands.
"Leo! Leo, look at Mommy! Stay with me, baby!" I cried, my voice cracking into a tortured sob.
Nico walked into the room a second later. He didn't run. He moved with a terrifying, calculated stillness, his eyes fixed on the flatline creeping higher on the monitor.
"Take it," Nico said calmly, rolling up his sleeve again before anyone could even ask. He looked at Dr. Vance. "Take as much as you need. Drain the vein if you have to."
Vance didn't hesitate. She grabbed the extraction needle, plunging it deep into Nico’s arm without even bothering to sanitize the site properly. Dark blood surged into the transfusion bag at a frantic pace. Within seconds, the bag was swapped, the IV line cleared, and the golden-red fluid began to flow directly into Leo’s veins.
We held our breath. One second. Five seconds. Ten seconds.
The monitor remained a flat, unbroken green line.
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BEEEEEP.
"Come on," Nico whispered, his voice cracking for the first time, a flicker of raw, naked panic flashing across his stone-cold face. "Come on, damn you..."
