Freya strode briskly down the hospital corridor, her heels clicking softly against the sterile tile floor. The faint hum of fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, but it was the oppressive atmosphere that pressed down on her. She clutched the piece of paper with Phoebe's room number scribbled on it—405. Her heart raced as she scanned the numbered plaques on each door.

It wasn't just the sharp scent of disinfectant or the occasional muffled cough that unsettled her; it was the weight in the air. As her eyes flicked toward the open doorways, she felt something she couldn't explain. A heaviness pressed on her chest when she passed one room, where an elderly man lay motionless in a sea of white linens. Further down, the distant sound of a child crying tugged sharply at her heart. The emotions weren't her own, yet they clung to her like cobwebs: sorrow, pain, helplessness.

Freya shook her head, trying to dispel the sensations, but they only grew stronger. It was as if the hospital walls were whispering secrets of suffering, and no matter how hard she tried to tune it out, she couldn't stop feeling it. By the time she reached Room 405, her fingers trembled against the cold metal of the door handle.

Freya hesitated outside the door, her hand hovering over the cold metal handle. She took a deep breath, trying to shake off the lingering unease from the hallway, before finally pushing it open. The sight of Phoebe lying in the hospital bed hit her like a punch to the chest. Her younger sister, usually so fierce and untouchable, looked fragile with the stark white bandage across her nose.

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"Hey," Freya said softly, trying to keep her voice steady. She approached the bed, her fingers curling into her palms to stop them from trembling. "You doing okay?"

Phoebe glanced up, her brows knitting together in a mix of annoyance and exhaustion. "I'm fine," she replied, her tone defensive but softer than usual. She gestured vaguely toward Freya. "How come they let you out so fast? Thought you'd be stuck here longer."

Freya pulled a chair closer to the bed and sat down, folding one leg over the other. "Guess I'm tougher than you," she teased lightly, a small smile tugging at her lips. But the smile quickly faded as she glanced at Phoebe's bandaged nose again. "Nah, I wasn't hurt too bad. They said I could leave after a few checks." Her voice softened as she added, "Don't worry—they said you'll be out soon too."

Phoebe huffed, her lips twitching into a faint smirk. "Figures. You always get the easy pass."

Freya's smile returned, but this time it was tinged with sadness. "Yeah, well, someone's gotta be here to keep an eye on you, right? Can't let you scare all the nurses with that temper of yours."

Phoebe rolled her eyes but didn't argue, her defenses melting just a little under her sister's warmth. "I brought you a sandwich," Freya said, pulling a neatly wrapped sandwich out of her bag and placing it on the small table beside Phoebe's bed. "Mom said she'll be here in about two hours to pick you up." Her tone was casual, but there was a subtle undercurrent of care in her voice.

Phoebe raised a brow. "Two hours? Great." She sounded indifferent, but Freya could see the tension in her sister's jaw.

"I've got some errands to run, so I'll see you later," Freya added as she stood up and adjusted her bag on her shoulder. She paused at the door, turning back to Phoebe with a soft smile. "Just relax for now, okay? And eat something. I'll check on you later."

"Okay. See you later," Phoebe mumbled, her voice quieter than usual.