Athena felt again, an immense wave of relief as she stood in the president's private quarantine chamber. He had chosen the largest room in the residence for his family's treatment, one that allowed for enough air circulation and space to move between the beds. It was the right call.
She was dressed head to toe in the sterile white suit doctors wore when entering containment areas, the visor fogging slightly from her breath. Aiden was suited too, though his seemed to hang heavier on him, the fabric making a faint rustle whenever he shifted.
The sharp tang of antiseptic filled the air, burning faintly in her nose. It was clean — almost too clean — with an undertone of the chemical disinfectants that always reminded her of hospital corridors and sleepless nights. The humming sound of a purifier filled the silence, steady, unbroken, like a heartbeat.
