"Bring her the IV. Increase her dosage of dopamine stimulants. Add serotonin, endorphins, and oxytocin as well."
The other nurse hesitated. "That much? Won't it—"
"It doesn't matter," the first nurse cut in sharply. "She needs to look happy today. It's a must."
The second nurse nodded and quickly walked away, leaving the first to glance back at the door with an unreadable expression.
Inside, Charlotte remained in the exact same position.
Her body felt weightless, as if she were floating in an endless abyss—adrift, unmoored, trapped in a space where time meant nothing.
The world around her was muted, the soft hum of medical equipment barely registering in her mind.
She had grown used to the sterile scent of the hospital, to the sound of nurses who entered and left as if she were nothing more than an object to be maintained.
Her eyes never left the window.
She wasn't looking at the sky, nor the buildings beyond.
She was looking past them.
