Page 39 of Lords Of Ruin: Christmas

“I’ve got her,” he murmurs, guiding us inside.

The automatic doors part, washing us in fluorescent light and antiseptic air. Penny’s head lolls against me, skin burning.

“Please,” I tell the nurse, breathless. “She’s got a fever—she’s been vomiting—she’s not waking up all the way.”

“How old?”

“Seven.”

“Come with me.”

Damien’s hand finds my shoulder as we follow her down the hall, grip so tight it hurts—but I don’t let go of Penny.

The monitor’s steady beep has become a kind of lullaby.

Penny’s fever broke around dawn, but I can’t stop touching her—her neck, her cheeks—just to make sure. Her skin is cool now, a faint sheen of sweat drying on her temples. I sit on the bed’s edge, tracing slow circles through her curls.

Damien’s across from me, elbows on his knees, hand resting on her leg. His eyes are bruised with exhaustion. Neither of us speaks for a long time.

Finally, he exhales. “I thought we were gonna lose her tonight.”

I meet his eyes, throat tight. “Me too.”

He stares at the blanket. “When she stopped crying in the car… I thought—” His voice breaks; he presses a hand over his mouth.

“Hey.” I reach for him. “She’s here. She’s okay.”

He nods shakily. “You don’t know how bad it scared me, seeing you holding her like that. I couldn’t do anything but drive.”

“You got us here,” I whisper.

He lets out a broken laugh. “I’d drive through hell if I had to.”

He looks at Penny again, brushing her hair back. “You scared us, bug. Don’t ever do that again.”

She stirs, sighs softly.

“I think it’s the flu,” he murmurs.

“Maybe,” I say, though my voice feels thin. “They’re running tests. Something about her white cell count.”

The door creaks. A young doctor steps in—glasses, coffee stain on his coat, tired eyes that still manage warmth.

“Mr. Sterling and Mrs. Beaumont?” he says softly. “I’m Dr. Keller. I’ll be taking over Penny’s care.”

He glances at the monitor, then at us. “She’s resting well. Her fever’s down, fluids are helping. But the scans show some fluid in her right lung—early-stage pneumonia.”

The word hits like a blow. I feel Damien stiffen beside me.

“She had the flu last month,” I whisper. “How?—?”

“It happens fast,” Dr. Keller says gently. “But you caught it early. That’s what matters.”

Damien’s voice is tight. “How bad?”

“Not severe. We’ll start antibiotics, monitor oxygen. She’ll stay a few days.”

My hand trembles on her blanket. Penny looks impossibly small under the wires and tape, lashes fluttering with each shallow breath. “She’s going to be okay?”