Sirius reached the hospital doors, panting heavily. He'd bolted straight from the café and ran the entire five miles without stopping, reaching the hospital in just under five minutes. Naturally, he was exhausted, his legs burning, lungs heaving as if fire was swelling in his chest.
But he didn't let the fatigue slow him down. He'd endured far worse in the Abyssal Plane, where even the air itself seemed to claw at him. This was nothing in comparison. He forced his breathing to steady, his steps to quicken, not wanting to alarm anyone or attract unnecessary attention. Though he knew he couldn't help it—his anxiety gnawed at him, and the fear of what he might find on the other side of that hospital door was unbearable. Xander had to be fine. He had to be.
