The dog stood its ground, emitting a low, dangerous growl that echoed off the wooden walls. The man froze, his eyes widening as he looked at the dog. "Atlas...?" he whispered, his voice cracking. "How did you..."
"He brought me here," Nora said, keeping her voice forced, steady, and clinical. "My name is Dr. Nora Vance. Your daughter is in severe ketoacidosis. If she doesn't get proper treatment immediately, she's going to slip into a coma." "No!" the man shouted, his face contorting in a terrifying mix of rage and panic. "I'm treating her! I gave her fluids!"
"Fluids aren't enough!" Nora insisted, stepping forward despite the iron poker. "She needs insulin! She needs a hospital!" "We're not going to a hospital!" the man screamed. Tears welled in his eyes, freezing on his unwashed cheeks. "I don't have money! I don't have insurance! Do you know what hospitals do when you can't pay? They let them die! My wife, Sarah... she had diabetes too. The bills were too high, the supplies ran out, and she died right in front of me! I couldn't save her!"