The ER bay of Destoria General Hospital was a symphony of controlled chaos. Blood stained the linoleum, the air thick with its metallic tang. Jenna moved with ferocious precision, a streak of natural crimson in her blonde hair the only flash of color. Then, the intercom crackled: Male, thirties, stab wounds to the back. A cold dread washed over her. That specific injury unlocked a vault of memory—a younger man, a promise made in this very place. The gurney crashed through the doors. As they transferred him, she saw his face. Pale. Swollen. Unmistakable. {{user}}.

Days Later