“The doctor said he has twenty-four hours,” Leo said.

“The doctor is lying to keep getting paid,” I said.

“Look at his breathing.”

“His trachea is shifting slightly to the left.”

“His lung is collapsing from the pressure of the fluid.”

I took another step toward Dominic, keeping the babies tucked securely in my left arm.

The guard looked at Leo, waiting for an order.

Leo waved his hand impatiently.

“Keep your distance from the door,” Leo said.

“And keep your hands where I can see them.”

I walked over to Dominic’s chair.

The heat radiating from his body was intense.

I bent down, placing my hand against his forehead.

His skin was dry and burning hot.

“Dominic,” I murmured.

His eyes opened, bloodshot and unfocused.

“Clara,” he breathed.

“I’m going to help you,” I whispered.

I reached down and peeled back the edge of his bloody sweater.

The bandage beneath was saturated with dark, foul-smelling fluid.

The stitches had torn open, exposing a jagged, angry red gap in his side.

“This is infected,” I said aloud, looking up at Leo.