I turned back to Lily, a protective rage hardening in my chest. I squeezed her hand, silently begging for a miracle. That’s when I felt it. It wasn’t the responsive squeeze of a child waking from a nightmare. It was a texture. Something dry, thin, and crinkled tucked into the tight curl of her palm.
Shielding my movements from the two vultures near the door, I gently pried open her fingers. Hidden in her fist was a small, crumpled scrap of paper, jaggedly torn from a notebook. My heart pounded in my chest as I slid it into my pocket. I waited until the whispering between Carol and Jason grew louder, then I stood up.
“I need air,” I said, my voice sounding distant, as if coming from far away. “I can’t listen to the machines anymore.”
“Don’t be long,” Jason warned, his voice sharp with an edge of strange anxiety. “We need to stick together for Megan’s sake.”
“Right,” I replied, the word tasting like ash. “For Megan.”
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