Get medicine. Get help. Nothing else mattered.
And then she stepped in front of me.
Mira.
That same soft smile. That same gentle face. The one I used to mistake for kindness.
“Move,” I snapped, trying to shove past her. “My son is sick. I need the clinic.”
She shifted slightly, blocking me again like it was nothing. “Sick?” she repeated lightly, glancing at her maids.
“Please,” I said, already losing patience. “I don’t have time for this.”
Instead of stepping aside, her lips curled. She pulled out her phone and typed something, then turned the screen toward me.
[Jump into the pond first.]
I froze.
“…What?”
She tilted her head as if I was slow. [Did you read it?]
A shaky laugh escaped me. “Are you serious right now? My child is burning up.”
She didn’t react. Just typed again.
[Jump.]
My throat went dry.
Behind her, two guards stepped forward, silently blocking the clinic doors.
“Mira…” My voice cracked. “Please. He needs help. Just let me pass.”
She only shrugged, like I was asking for something trivial. [Then jump.]
Something inside me twisted violently.
I wanted to scream. To drag her down. To make her understand what it felt like to be powerless.
But Ezra…
Ezra came first.