"Very well," she said, rising gracefully from her chair. "We have a deal."
*
The air was thick with tension and the scent of antiseptic as I sat beside Lyra's bed in the infirmary. My heart ached at the sight of her tiny form lying motionless beneath the stark white sheets.
I held her hand gently, tracing the delicate lines of her fingers, silently willing her to wake up and return to me.
"You’ll pull through this, my darling," I whispered, my voice trembling with emotion. "Momma’s here. I won’t let anything happen to you."
Hours passed, and finally, Maria emerged, a small vial clutched in her hand. She approached with the practiced grace of someone who knew the weight of her own importance.
"The antidote is ready," Maria announced, holding out the vial. "I’ll administer it myself, ensure it’s done correctly."
I nodded, watching as she carefully injected the serum into Lyra's IV. I could hardly breathe, my heart in my throat as I clung to the hope that this would work. Lyra's life depended on it.