Morgana froze where she stood; the hand holding the phone fell.
"Of course this isn't the phone I used that night. It has been 10... fucking... years."
She moved. Resolve hardened her face..
No time to think.
It won't take more than a day.
I've bled years into it.
It's all in my mind.
***
— 36 hours later —
Morgana's breath came in heavy. Her eyes were bloodshot and swollen, dark rings eating into the pale of her face. She glanced at her silver watch on her wrist.
5:00 a.m.
The building lay in a dull, pre-dawn dark; nothing moved except the rise and fall of her chest.
She staggered toward the isolation room door, legs unsteady but driven by a single phrase.
"This time, I'll save you."
The door released with a tired hiss. She crossed to the sample rack and stared at the vial sitting in its cradle. A thin, spent smile touched her lips.
"It worked…"
Her fingers shook as she sealed it inside a cold box, snapped the latches, and bolted.
She ran through sliding doors and sterile hallways, clutching the box like a newborn. The hospital air was colder, brighter, crueler. She cut straight for ICU, shoes skidding as she took the last turn.
She reached his window—and froze.
Inside, a nurse pulled a blanket up over Dorvak's face at the same time the sun rose with a new day and its faint golden light washed his face before the goodbye.
The box slid out of her hands. Plastic struck the floor with a hollow clap. Morgana's breath stuttered; her face barely moved, eyes wide and glassy—then narrowed as she fixed on the crash cart in the corner, hard and ruthless.
She threw her shoulder into the door, shoved it open, and drove the cart in so hard it rattled.
"What the hell are you doing standing still—get the fuck out of my way!"
A bald physician stood at Dorvak's side.
"Hey!… you can't to do this."
She didn't even turned her eyes to him. She tore the blanket down and dragged the cart to the bed, swallowing a cry as her eyes caught his face. Tears clung to the edges of her lashes but refused to fall. Her hands were already moving—pads out, gel, placement over his chest.
"One shock," she breathed, voice shaking.
"Come on, come on…"
She pressed the button. Dorvak's body jerked under her hands.
The monitor stayed flat.
She started compressions, shoulders heaving, jaw locked. Thirty counts, then she leaned and sealed his mouth with hers, breath catching on a muffled sob. Again—compressions, breath, compressions—the rhythm of refusal.
"Stop, Morgana!" the bald doctor snapped, stepping in.
A younger doctor grabbed his sleeve and shook her head, eyes pleading. He faltered.
The bald physician glanced at the cart—and saw the cold box on its shelf, the label glaring back at him.
He just and walked out realizing but saying nothing.
Morgana didn't look up.
"Why won't you wake up?" Her voice tore at the last word.
"Don't you dare die now."
She balled both fists and hammered his sternum, once, twice, again, anger cracking into panic.
"Come back—now! The sample's right here! Didn't you want to live more?"
"I only need your pulse," she begged, compressions faltering as exhaustion chewed into her muscles.
"Just your pulse please... I finished it this time."
Her blows slowed, grew weak, and then her arms finally gave. She folded over him, forehead to his chest, and the dam broke.
"I'm sorry… Dorvak." The words trembled into the fabric of the hospital gown.
"I'm... sorry."
Staff slipped out one by one, the door sighing shut, leaving only the machines' useless hum. The overheads felt too bright; her world had gone dim.
"No fair," Morgana whispered, eyes barely open now, lashes wet. Her breath brushed his collarbone, a small, broken metronome.
Then, at last, they closed—slowly.
A faint voice stirred her from the dark.
"Miss…?"
Morgana's swollen eyes cracked open halfway, dry and heavy.
"You're in our way," a man's voice said from behind her — calm but firm.
"If you don't step aside, I'll have to make you."
She didn't answer. Her fingers stayed locked on Dorvak's hand, still resting cold on the bed.
Then, suddenly—A hard shove hit her from behind.
An old woman stumbled past the man, her voice trembling with rage and grief.
"What the hell you're doing here?! Get away from my son, you witch!"