“That’s good to hear,” Damien finally exhaled, relief softening his features. “With you here, Ms. Shepherd’s in good hands.”
With that reassurance, Damien disappeared to take a shower.
Calliope gathered the medications and made her way into Mavis’s hospital room. She started by giving Mavis a pill, then followed up with two quick injections.
Uriah never left Mavis’s side, his gaze filled with worry and tenderness. The sight of her, surrounded by machines and monitors, with fresh needle marks dotting her hand, tore at him. His eyes reddened, but he kept silent, not wanting to interrupt Calliope’s work.
When Calliope finished, she looked Mavis over and frowned.
“How is she?” Uriah ventured, his voice low.
“Her vitals are stable and improving. The infection is receding, her fever’s heading down…” Calliope paused, “But she’s still not waking up.”
Uriah’s anxiety spiked. “Shouldn’t she be conscious by now?”
“In theory, yes. She should have woken up already, but she’s completely unresponsive.” Calliope’s frown deepened. “Have you tried talking to her?”
“I have. I haven’t stopped—anything to try to reach her. But she doesn’t react to me, not at all.”
“She’s far too quiet,” Calliope murmured, troubled. “Something about this doesn’t feel right.”
“So… even you can’t figure out what’s wrong?” Uriah’s uneasiness was growing with every answer. He’d believed that with Calliope here, Mavis would snap out of it—wake up, whole and safe. But now, hours later, she was still lost in unconsciousness, as unreachable as ever.
“I can’t,” Calliope admitted, shaking her head. “This is… complicated.”


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