One compression after another.
An injection.
Another command to Mary.
Another bag of blood opened too late.
Rhen listened for a heartbeat.
Nothing.
The baby screamed from the cradle.
Still the medic worked.
Rhen counted every second.
Ten.
Twenty.
Thirty.
He stopped counting when the numbers ceased meaning anything.
The medic’s movements finally slowed.
“No,” Rhen warned.
She checked Leena’s throat.
Then her chest.
Her face changed.
“I’m sorry.”
“No.”
“Rhen—”
“No.”
He shoved past her and gathered Leena into his arms.
Her head fell against his chest.
Too loose.
Too still.
He pressed his ear to her mouth, then against her chest, searching for anything the medic and his own senses might have missed.
No breath.
No heartbeat.
No life.
