Chapter 178: The Ambulance's Piercing Siren Tore Through the Night Sky

The ambulance's piercing siren tore through the night sky.

Clara Whitmore had just stepped out of the taxi when the sound made her entire body shudder.

"Hurry! Second batch of casualties from the West Avenue crash—straight to the ER!"

The bloodied figure on the stretcher made her breath catch. Instinctively, she quickened her pace and rushed into the hospital lobby.

"Which room is Sloane Bennett in?"

The nurse looked up at her, hesitating before speaking.

"Are you family?"

"Yes. I came as soon as I got the call."

The nurse sighed. "Go take a look inside."

Clara's fingers turned ice-cold.

She bit her lip hard and pushed open the heavy door.

The human-shaped outline beneath the white sheet made her legs go weak.

"Clara?"

A familiar voice came from behind.

She whirled around.

Sloane stood there, tilting her head, a band-aid on her cheek.

"You—" Clara's voice trembled.

"Why did the family member come in here?" A nurse poked her head in. "Your friend is in the observation room next door."

Only then did Clara notice the nameplate by the bed.

It wasn't Sloane at all.

"I was standing right behind you." Sloane blinked. "How could you mistake someone else for me?"

On the bench in the hallway.

Sloane nudged her gently with a shoulder. "Are you really mad?"

Clara turned her face away.

"Okay, I'm sorry." Sloane leaned closer. "See? I'm perfectly fine."

She pointed at the band-aid on her cheek. "Just a scratch. Didn't even need stitches."

Clara finally looked at her. "What actually happened?"

"Was heading out for barbecue after work when I got caught in a pileup on West Avenue." Sloane shrugged. "Got nicked by some flying glass and took a nasty fall."

She made it sound trivial, but Clara noticed her hands shaking slightly.

"The injured on the ambulance..." Sloane's voice dropped. "One was lying right next to me."

Clara grabbed her hand.

Her cold fingers gradually warmed.

"I've always had good luck." Sloane suddenly grinned. "But you—were you about to cry earlier?"

Clara glared. "Who told you to play dead!"

"I wasn't playing!" Sloane blinked innocently. "You charged in without looking properly."

She leaned close to Clara's ear. "But... thanks for worrying about me so much."

A night breeze drifted in from the window at the end of the corridor.

In the antiseptic-scented air, two shadows pressed close together.