"How long has it been like this?" she asked.
Aria shrugged, then stopped when the movement triggered a cough. She pressed a fist briefly to her chest. "A little while."
"How long," Serafina said, quietly now.
Aria looked away. "A few weeks."
The answer hit harder than Serafina expected.
"You should've told me."
"I didn't want to make it a thing," Aria said quickly. "Insurance was supposed to approve it. They said it wasn't urgent. I can still breathe. Mostly."
Her voice cracked on the last word.
Serafina's jaw tightened. She reached out without asking and gently tilted Aria's chin up, her fingers brushing warm, slightly damp skin. The swelling beneath was firm, unyielding.
"When did your voice change?"
Aria pulled back gently. "I know what it is, Sera. I've literally studied this."
"Then you know it's not fine."
"I know the differential. I know the imaging protocol. I know—" Her voice caught, and she stopped. When she spoke again, it was quieter. "I know the complication rates."
Serafina didn't ask what they were. She didn't want Aria to say them out loud.
She crossed to the desk, pulled out her phone, and started searching anyway. She didn't need to read much. The terms leapt out regardless.
Airway compression. Vocal cord involvement. Emergency intervention.
Her pulse quickened—steady, purposeful, the same way it did when she arrived at a crime scene and already knew exactly what had to be done.
"We're going to the ER," she said.
Aria's eyes widened. "Sera?—"
"Now."
"I have class tomorrow. I can't just?—"
"You're not going to class," Serafina said. "Don't be ridiculous. You can barely breathe. Get changed and get your things."
She held Aria's gaze, unyielding. They could both be stubborn, but this wasn't the moment for denial. Aria knew it. Serafina could see it in her eyes.
She wouldn't have called otherwise.
Aria swallowed, tears welling but held back. Then she nodded. "Okay, Sera. Let's go."
The hospital was barely two blocks from the university.
UC San Diego Health rose out of the early-morning haze, its lights already bright as the city around it stirred. The sun was just starting to burn through the coastal fog.
Aria sat curled into herself in the passenger seat, hoodie pulled tight despite the mild air. She stared straight ahead, too quiet—the kind of quiet that made Serafina's chest tighten.
Inside the emergency department, everything was fluorescent and sharp. Aria sat hunched on a gurney while Serafina handled intake, her voice calm, clipped, precise. She didn't raise it. She didn't need to.
The triage nurse took one look at Aria's neck and moved faster.
