The medical wing descended into controlled chaos.
Emily watched through a haze of pain and terror as Dr. Yun barked orders, nurses swarming around the incubator where their daughter—so impossibly small, so fragile—struggled to breathe. The monitors screamed warnings in discordant beeps, each sound a knife to Emily's chest.
"Oxygen saturation at seventy-two percent and dropping," a nurse called out, her professional calm cracking at the edges.
"Get me the pediatric ventilator. The one from the mainland hospital shipment." Dr. Yun's hands moved with desperate precision. "It's not designed for enhanced genetic markers, but it's better than watching her suffocate."
"Her lungs," Alexander said, and his voice was hollow, destroyed. His hand still gripped Emily's with crushing force, but his eyes were locked on the incubator. "You said the genetic marker would help. You said—"
