Port Charles wakes on Tuesday, February 10, under a pressure that feels almost physical. The streets are busy, the hospital corridors hum, the Metro Court sparkles

as always — yet an unease curls beneath every conversation. In a town accustomed to danger, this is something different. This is dread rooted in the slow,

terrifying realization that Anna Devane may be slipping away while everyone argues about how to save her. And the most heartbreaking part? The decision may fall to her oldest friend.

Felicia’s impossible choice

General Hospital spoilers tease that Felicia Scorpio reaches a crossroads that could redefine her relationship with Anna forever. For weeks she has watched the legendary spy falter — moments of confusion, misplaced laughter, flashes of steel followed by alarming vulnerability. Each episode chips away at the certainty Felicia once carried that Anna would always land on her feet.

Now Felicia is forced to consider words she can barely stand to think: psychiatric hold, supervision, consent.

To outsiders it may sound clinical. To Felicia, it feels like betrayal.

Anna is the woman who rescued others, who made the hard calls, who stood between chaos and the innocent more times than Port Charles can count. How do you look at someone like that and tell her she no longer gets to choose for herself?

Yet the danger is no longer hypothetical. Anna is drifting, and everyone sees it. The fear isn’t simply that she might fall — it’s that someone might be waiting to push.

Ghosts that refuse to stay buried

Those closest to Anna cannot shake the suspicion that her collapse is not natural. Names long associated with her past trauma — enemies who exploited, kidnapped, and psychologically shattered her — are floating back into whispered conversations. Sidwell. Cullum. Forces that specialize in striking when a target is weakest.

Jason Morgan feels the shift as sharply as anyone.

He doesn’t dramatize it. He investigates.

While others debate compassion versus autonomy, Jason is quietly mapping patterns: when Anna deteriorates, who is nearby, what resources are moving behind the scenes. The more he looks, the less random it appears.

And another thread keeps snagging his attention — Britt.

Britt under suspicion

Officially, Britt Westbourne has reasons for her movements. Patients. Consults. Emergencies. Perfectly acceptable explanations delivered with white-coat composure.

But Elizabeth Baldwin isn’t buying it.

Liz notices that Britt appears at odd moments, asks the wrong questions, exits through doors left ajar just a little too deliberately. Rather than confront her, Liz does what nurses and mothers and survivors do best: she observes.

On Tuesday, that caution may tip into risk.

Spoilers hint Liz follows Britt farther than she should, down a hallway that doesn’t welcome casual curiosity. What she might find — files, names, evidence of coordination — could put her squarely in the crosshairs before she even understands the game.

Fortunately, Liz is no longer facing danger alone. Ric Lansing, flawed and complicated though he is, has reinserted himself into her orbit. If something goes wrong, he may be the one forced to step between Liz and consequences she never intended to invite.

Jason connects the dots

Jason brings Felicia information, not reassurance. Timelines that overlap too neatly. Financial whispers. The possibility that Anna and Britt are not separate tragedies but parallel operations.

If someone engineered this, then isolating Anna in a facility might protect her.

Or make her easier to reach.

That is the thought that keeps Felicia frozen.

Laura’s burden

From the mayor’s office, Laura Collins views the crisis through another brutal lens: public safety.

Her affection for Anna has never wavered, which makes her growing conclusion even more painful. A police commissioner must be trusted, stable, legally unimpeachable. Right now, Anna is none of those things.

Paperwork waits on Laura’s desk, heavy with finality. Removing Anna could prevent catastrophe — but it could also devastate a woman who built her identity on strength and service.

Leadership often means doing the unthinkable in the name of the necessary. Tuesday may force Laura to decide whether she can live with that.

Carly and Valentin play with fire

Elsewhere, romance masquerades as strategy.

Carly Corinthos insists her entanglement with Valentin is controlled, temporary, manageable. Publicly she still stands beside Brennan, maintaining appearances with smiles that don’t quite reach her eyes.

Brennan notices.

Men like him survive because they catalog irregularities — the delayed laugh, the distracted glance at a phone that never lights up. He may not confront Carly yet, but suspicion is taking root.

Valentin senses exposure too. He suggests distance, caution, retreat.

Neither of them truly intends to follow that advice.

Emma’s quiet terror

Perhaps the purest heartbreak belongs to Emma. She sees what adults try to reframe, soften, excuse. Her grandmother is present, yet altered, like a familiar house rearranged in the dark.

Emma hears fragments — evaluations, fitness, permanent — and each one lands like prophecy. Children understand more than anyone realizes. Her silence may speak volumes.

The escort

By the time evening falls, momentum has built. Decisions whispered in hallways solidify into plans. Professionals arrive with gentle voices and firm hands.

Anna, ever intuitive, feels it coming.

For one suspended moment, clarity returns. A plea flickers in her eyes — perhaps even a single word of protest. Then the fog rolls back in, and she goes without the fight everyone expected.

That surrender terrifies her friends more than resistance would have.

Jason watches from a distance, closer to answers than he has been in years. If he is right, the truth will not arrive kindly. It will wound before it heals — if it heals at all.

Felicia is left with the echo of her choice, wondering whether she saved Anna or delivered her into another nightmare.

Port Charles exhales, but relief never comes.

Because in this town, removal is rarely the end of danger.

Sometimes it’s the beginning.