Ana pushed through the double doors of the Emergency Department.
The sharp, metallic smell of fresh blood mixed with bleach hit the back of her throat, making her gag.
A handful of sharp-eyed men in dark suits and earpieces had quietly secured the area. They didn't draw weapons, but their tactical positioning effectively isolated the entire emergency wing, denying entry to anyone without raising a public alarm.
Ana rushed toward Trauma Room One, but a thick arm slammed across her chest, stopping her in her tracks.
She held up her hospital ID badge, her voice shaking with adrenaline.
"I am a doctor! Let me through to assist!"
The agent didn't even blink, standing like a brick wall.
Through the gap between the agent's arm and torso, Ana saw inside the trauma room.
Auguste was standing there.
His expensive trench coat was gone, and his crisp white shirt was soaked in bright red blood.
He was screaming at the ER director.
Ana followed his gaze to the operating table.
A young boy, maybe seven years old, lay there covered in blood.
When Ana saw the boy's pale, lifeless face, a violent spasm ripped through her chest.
Her lungs seized.
It was a bizarre, physical ache of familiarity that made no sense.
The ER director ran out of the room, sweating through his scrubs, screaming into his radio for the blood bank.
A hematologist sprinted down the hall, his voice cracking in panic.
"The boy's blood type is Rh-null!"
Auguste grabbed the hematologist by the collar of his lab coat, lifting him onto his toes.
"Get it from the national registry! Now!"
The doctor choked out a sob.
"There are less than ten registered donors in the entire country! We don't have time!"
The heart monitor next to the boy's bed let out a rapid, terrifying beep.
His blood pressure was crashing.
The edges of Auguste's eyes turned a raw, weeping red.
The absolute despair of a powerful man breaking down was visceral.
Ana heard the words 'Rh-null', and a loud ringing erupted in her ears.
She remembered her own medical file.
She shoved her weight against the agent blocking her path, forcing her way into the perimeter.
Two agents instantly closed the distance, moving with terrifying speed. One grabbed her arm and wrenched it behind her back, while the other used his body weight to pin her shoulder hard against the wall. "Do not move another inch!"
Ana threw her hands in the air, her chest heaving.
"I have Rh-null blood!"
The entire trauma room went dead silent.
The only sound was the mechanical hiss of the ventilator.
Auguste's head snapped toward her.
The despair in his eyes hardened into sharp, cutting daggers.
The ER director lunged for the computer terminal, typing in Ana's employee ID number.
A green match icon flashed on the screen.
"She's telling the truth!" the director yelled.
Auguste closed the distance between them in three massive strides.
His shadow swallowed her completely.
"Get on the chair," he ordered, his voice a low, gravelly threat.
Ana looked at his demanding face, remembering the humiliation in her clinic just ten minutes ago.
She took one step back, avoiding his physical space.
She locked her eyes onto his.
"Blood donation is voluntary. I don't feel like cooperating with an arrogant jerk who disrespects doctors."
The nurses gasped.
The agents stepped closer, drawing their weapons and leveling them at her head.
Auguste's jaw clenched so hard a muscle ticked in his cheek.
"What do you want?"
