On the seventh day, the air changed. Mal had gone to refill his cup.

Ten minutes, tops. When he returned, the door was open, and alarms were going off. He ran. Inside, Claris was choking. Blood spilled from the corner of his mouth. He was clutching the emergency button with one hand, the other gripping the sheets like he was trying to hold the world in place.

Nurses moved fast. Voices sharp. Someone yelled for suction. Mal was pulled aside. He didn’t remember dropping the coffee cup. But it clattered on the floor, the lid spinning. Time fractured. Everything after that came in flashes. Blue gloves. Wet coughing. A cart wheeling in. Machines screaming.

And Claris, eyes wide and terrified, reaching for a hand that wasn’t close enough.