The hallway was eerily quiet, painted in muted grays and the faint hum of machines humming in the background. The sun hadn’t fully risen yet, but Margaret Kingston was already up, her hair slightly scattered and her hands wrapped around a paper cup of her coffee that had since gone cold.

She had barely slept, even blinked through the night.

She couldn't, not when her son was there battling for his life.

Moments later, Raina stirred on the couch beside her. She sat up slowly, rubbing her ...