Three days left
Blake cradled Celena close as he ascended the stairs, each step heavy with anticipation and dread. The others' voices faded behind him as he approached the closed door of Rose's room. He paused, taking a deep breath to steel himself before pushing it open.
The room was dimly lit, the curtains drawn to keep out the harsh daylight. The soft hum of medical equipment filled the air, a constant reminder of Rose's fragile state. Blake's eyes immediately found her still form on the bed, pale and motionless.
"Mommy?" Celena whispered, her small voice trembling.
Blake approached the bedside, his gaze locked on Rose's hand resting atop the covers. His breath caught in his throat as he saw the mark on her index finger - a dark, web-like pattern that had spread ominously since he'd last seen it. The inky tendrils now encompassed her entire index finger, creeping across her thumb and stretching halfway across her palm.