The morning air was cold and sharp like the nerves crawling beneath Ava’s skin. She sat in the passenger seat of Damien’s car, her fingers clutching the hem of her coat so tightly, that her knuckles turned white. Her legs refused to stop shaking.

They had barely spoken during the drive. Damien’s hands gripped the steering wheel, his jaw tight and his expression unreadable. The only sound in the car was the rhythmic hum of the engine and the soft sound of Ava’s anxious breathing.

As the hospital came into view, a wave of nausea rolled through her.

Her little sister, Lily was about to be cut open, and no...