Dr. Velázquez didn’t look at him. She just tapped a manila folder against the counter. “We ran a contrast CT and a targeted ultrasound. Officer Reyes… I’ve spent nearly two decades dealing with tumors, teratomas, and rare congenital abnormalities. What is inside Lilia García defies every textbook printed in the last century.”
She opened the folder and slid out a series of black-and-white imaging sheets. She pointed a trembling pen at the center of Lili’s pelvic and abdominal cavity.
“A normal tumor is a mass of chaotic, unorganized cells,” Cassandra explained, her voice dropping to a harsh whisper. “But look at this. These aren’t chaotic cells. Do you see these dark, linear shadows radiating outward? Those are independent vascular pathways. Whatever this thing is, it hasn’t just grown inside her; it has actively engineered its own circulatory system. It is tapping directly into her abdominal aorta and her hepatic portal vein.”
Tomás squinted at the image. The mass didn’t look round like a typical tumor. It had segmented ridges, looking almost like a tightly coiled fist, or worse, a fetal position that wasn’t human. “You said it’s damaging her organs.”
