Chapter 33 - The Poisoned IV Line
Before they could clear the outer gate of the hospital’s service tunnel, Hannah began to cough—a dry, hacking rattle that turned into a frantic, gasping wheeze.
"Daniel!" Clara screamed from the backseat. "Something's wrong with Hannah! Her lips... they're turning blue!"
Daniel spun around in the passenger seat, his heart dropping into an abyss. Hannah was convulsing in her safety seat, her tiny chest heaving against the harness, her brown eyes rolling back toward the roof of the SUV.
"What happened?! Did she get hit by glass?!" Daniel yelled, tearing his seatbelt off and climbing into the back.
"No, no glass!" Clara sobbed, pulling the girl's sleeve back. "Look at her arm!"
On Hannah’s inner forearm, right where the pediatric nurse had placed an adhesive bandage over an IV puncture before the shooting, the skin had turned a bruised, necrotic purple. A thin spiderweb of black veins was spreading toward her wrist and elbow.
"The nurse," Vance barked, slamming his foot on the brake as the SUV skidded onto the rain-slicked boulevard. "The orderly who brought in her pain medication before the sniper opened fire!"
"They poisoned her before they even pulled the trigger," Daniel roared, panic threatening to snap his sanity. He grabbed Hannah, lifting her limp body into his arms. Her skin was burning, radiating an unnatural, feverish heat. "Vance, what clinic is safe?! Who isn't bought?!"
"None of the public hospitals," Vance spat, slamming the steering wheel. "If the Lilith Syndicate has infiltrated the state correctional system and St. Jude's, they own the city's medical board."
"Then we go to my private facility," Daniel said, his voice cold as liquid nitrogen, though his hands shook uncontrollably as he pressed his cheek to Hannah’s forehead. "The Sterling Medical Vault in the financial district. It has independent air filtration, private surgical suites, and my personal physician, Dr. Aris Thorne. Thorne saved my father's life. He doesn't answer to anyone on this continent."
As Vance swerved through the torrential rain, sirens howling behind them, Daniel peeled back the bandage on Hannah’s arm. Underneath, etched into the small adhesive pad with micro-ink, was a single printed line:
May you like
*‘The third sister says sleep well, little heir.’*
Daniel crushed the bandage in his fist, blood trickling from where his own fingernails dug into his palms. "Step on the gas, Vance. If she dies, I will burn this city to ash."
