“Go,” Giovanni hissed, pulling me toward the corner of the room.

Dr. Sullivan was already crouched beside the gurney, his face pale in the faint green glow of the backup monitor.

The monitor flickered twice, powered by a weak emergency battery.

“Take this,” Dr. Sullivan whispered, thrusting a small metal oxygen canister into my hands.

He quickly attached the plastic line to Luca’s mask.

“He needs this flow constant,” the doctor said, his hands shaking slightly but his voice steady.

“I have to stay with the other children on this floor.”

“Thank you,” I breathed.

A loud crash shook the drywall outside our door.

A man screamed, a wet, choked sound that ended abruptly with a heavy thud.

Footsteps rumbled toward our room, fast and heavy.

Giovanni drew a sleek, black pistol from beneath his tailored coat.

He stepped in front of me, his broad shoulders blocking my view of the entrance.

Two shadows appeared in the doorway, their silhouettes backlit by the emergency lights of the hallway.

Giovanni fired twice.

The muzzle flashes lit up the room in brief, blinding bursts of white.