Her own breathing came in short, frantic bursts. Her chest burned. Her arms trembled as she tried to keep Emilia steady—but she didn’t let go. She couldn’t. Emilia’s small fingers clawed weakly at Ana’s T-shirt, then slipped away. Her mouth opened like she was trying to scream, but only a thin, terrifying wheeze came out.
Ana felt ice clamp around her stomach. She had seen this before—not this bad, but close enough.
“No, no,” she whispered desperately, pressing her forehead to Emilia’s temple.
“Stay with me. Don’t do this. Please don’t do this.”
Her hands shook so violently she had to clench her jaw to keep them from slipping. Her breathing was ragged, chest tight with terror, but her mind raced through what she knew, what she had watched, what she had learned simply by being there every time.
The inhaler.
Ana jerked her head up, frantic. “It’s right here!” she yelled. “Her inhaler! Where is it?”
No one moved. The side table was only a few feet away, but it might as well have been on the other side of the Pacific. Carefully, Ana shifted Emilia just enough to stretch one arm without completely losing her grip. Emilia convulsed again.