"We're losing the second one!" Dean Nash's voice crackled through my phone as our taxi screeched to a halt outside Central Hospital.
Dr. Shaw and I rushed through the sliding doors, our footsteps echoing in the sterile corridors. The smell of disinfectant mixed with something else. Fear.
"Third floor, trauma wing," I told Dr. Shaw as we headed for the elevator.
"Master, what exactly are we walking into?"
Before I could answer, the elevator doors opened to reveal chaos. Nurses ran between rooms, their faces pale with exhaustion. The steady beep of monitors created an ominous symphony.
Dean Nash appeared at the end of the hallway, his usually composed demeanor shattered.
"Ethan!" He hurried toward us, his white coat stained with sweat. "Thank God you're here."
"What's the situation?"
"Six police officers. They were brought in three hours ago, covered in blood. No external wounds we can identify, but they're all..." He paused, struggling with the words.
"They're what?"
