I gripped the doorframe, dragging myself out of the room.

The hallway was a blur of blue scrubs and flashing red security lights.

The air smelled of rubbing alcohol and ozone.

Every step sent a jagged lance of pain through my abdomen, but I kept going, my hand sliding along the cold handrail on the wall.

At the far end of the corridor, near the service elevators, I saw them.

Vanessa was standing near the wall, her designer heels clicking against the floor as she paced.

Beside her, two men in gray transport uniforms were wheeling a clear plastic transport incubator toward the open elevator doors.

Inside, three tiny, pale bundles were visible beneath the sterile drapes.

Grant stood by the elevator panel, his finger pressing the button repeatedly.

“Hurry up,” he muttered to the transport team.

“Grant,” I called out, my voice raw and cracking.

He turned, his eyes narrowing as he saw me leaning against the wall, my hospital gown stained with a small patch of fresh blood.

“You should be in bed, Chloe,” he said, his voice cold and devoid of any emotion.