I step closer, worry squeezing my chest. “Carrie. Hey—talk to me. You don’t look good.”
She tries to smile, but it barely flickers. “I’m fine, Nico. Just—just tired?—”
Before she can finish, her knees buckle. She drops the books, swaying. I lunge forward and catch her before she hits the ground. She feels small in my arms, limp and boneless.
“Carrie!” I shake her gently, panic starting to rise. She doesn’t respond, her head lolling against my shoulder.
I shout, voice echoing off the high shelves. “Help! I need help in here!”
Mrs. Jackson, the head librarian, comes running from the back, her eyes wide. “What did you do?” she snaps, rushing over.
I glare at her, holding Carrie tight. “I didn’t do anything. She just collapsed. Let me take her to the infirmary.”
Mrs. Jackson’s mouth is tight, stubborn. “I’ll take her. You can’t?—”
“With all due respect, you can’t,” I cut in, shifting Carrie’s weight so she’s cradled in my arms. “She needs help now, not a debate.”
She calls for guards, her voice urgent, but the intercom just crackles, and no one comes. The seconds stretch. Carrie is limp against my chest, breath shallow, skin cold.
Mrs. Jackson hesitates, fear and frustration warring on her face. “Fine. But you take her straight there, you hear me? No funny business. I’m right behind you.”
“I will,” I promise, already moving.
We rush through the corridors, my arms aching from holding her but I don’t dare let go. Mrs. Jackson is right behind me, breathless but keeping up. When I burst through the infirmary doors, the nurse at the desk freezes, eyes going wide as she sees me.
I lay Carrie on the nearest cot, brushing the hair from her face. “What’s wrong with her?” My voice is rough, more desperate than I want to admit.
The nurse edges closer, nerves all over her face. She glances at Mrs. Jackson, then back at me. “I—I have to check her, sir. Please step back.”
“I’m not leaving her,” I say, voice tight.
Before the nurse can answer, Carrie stirs, panic lighting up her face. She grabs at the sheets, trying to sit up. Her eyes find mine, wild and afraid.
“Nico, go,” she says, her voice shaking. “You can’t be here.”
I frown, stepping closer. “Carrie—hey, calm down. I’m not leaving you like this.”
She turns to the nurse, voice pleading, urgent. “Please, get him to leave. He can’t be here. You get me? He can’t be here.”
The nurse nods, stepping between us. “Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to go now. Please.”
For a second, I can’t move, can’t breathe. The look in her eyes hurts worse than any punch I’ve ever taken, but I see the fear in her face. I see how much she needs this, whatever it is.
I pace the hallway outside the infirmary, every muscle in my body buzzing with worry. I keep replaying Carrie’s voice, that panic in her eyes, the way she begged the nurse to get me out. I want to respect what she asked, but leaving her in there, alone and scared, makes me crazy.
Five minutes pass. Then ten. Every second stretches out, thick and heavy. No one comes out, no one tells me a damn thing. I try to stay calm, but it’s no use.
I need to see her. I need to know what’s happening.
A plan forms in my head, reckless but simple. I duck around the corner, away from the cameras, heart pounding. There’s a sharp metal edge on an old radiator against the wall. I roll up my jumpsuit leg and press the skin of my calf right to the jagged spot, gritting my teeth as I drag it hard across my skin. The pain is instant, hot and sharp. Blood beads up and starts to run, bright and sticky.
I pull the fabric down, limping a little as I make my way back down the hall. I bang on the infirmary door, face set in a grimace. The nurse from earlier spots the blood trickling down my ankle.
“What happened?” she demands, rushing over.
“Cut myself on some busted metal out there,” I mutter, playing it off like nothing. “Could use a little help.”
She sighs, clearly annoyed, but opens the door wider. “Come in, sit. I’ll get the kit.”
