I woke to searing pain tearing through my abdomen, intense enough to make me curl into a fetal position. The cold concrete floor pressed against my cheek as I struggled to breathe through waves of agony.
Where was I? The events of the past hours flooded back—Claire's disbelief, the test results she'd thrown in my face, the interrogation that had stretched through the night.
"Hey! I need help in here!" I called out, my voice weak. Each syllable cost me precious energy.
No one came.
Another spasm hit, and I bit my lip to keep from screaming. This wasn't just my anemia—something else was wrong. Very wrong.
The cell door swung open, and I looked up hopefully.
Dr. Claire Pierce stood in the doorway, a clipboard clutched to her chest. Her professional mask was firmly in place, but I caught the flicker of concern in her eyes as she took in my crumpled form.
"You're still at it?" Her voice was cold, clinical. "The blood tests were clear, Juliana."
