Trauma Bay — Elijah Greyhawk
The rhythm on the monitor steadied into a fragile, uneven pattern — not strong, not safe, but present. The medical team moved with controlled urgency, adjusting lines, securing the stabilizer, monitoring the implant’s erratic output.
“Sinus rhythm returning,” a nurse said.
“Keep him on high‑flow O2,” the doctor replied. “We’re not out of the woods.”
Elijah stood frozen at the foot of the bed, hands trembling, breath unsteady. His knees still felt weak from the moment the flatline broke.
Chet lay motionless, chest rising in shallow, uneven breaths. His skin was pale, his eyelids still, his body limp. But he was alive.
“Elijah,” Torres said softly, touching his arm. “He’s back. He’s stable enough for now.”
Elijah swallowed hard. “He… he heard me.”
Torres nodded. “I know.”
Elijah stepped closer to the bed, brushing a hand through Chet’s hair. “I’m right here,” he whispered. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Chet didn’t respond. But Elijah stayed.
###
Trauma Unit Hallway — Hayes
Hayes leaned against the wall outside the trauma bay, arms crossed, jaw tight. The adrenaline was wearing off, leaving behind a bone‑deep exhaustion he didn’t have time to feel.
Marianne approached quietly. “Transport team confirmed Kline is secure. They’re taking him to the federal holding facility.”
Hayes nodded. “Good.”
Evan joined them. “We’ve got statements to give. Paperwork. Command wants a preliminary report within the hour.”
Hayes exhaled slowly. “Of course they do.”
Marianne studied him. “Are you okay?”
Hayes didn’t answer right away. He looked through the glass at Elijah — still standing at Chet’s bedside, unmoving, eyes fixed on him like he could will him back to consciousness.
“No,” Hayes said finally. “But we don’t get to fall apart yet.”
###
Trauma Unit — Leah Gagnon
Leah stood a few feet down the hall, arms wrapped around herself, exhaustion etched into every line of her face. She’d been running on adrenaline for hours, and now that the crisis had passed — barely — the weight of it hit her all at once.
She approached Hayes quietly. “Any change?” she asked.
Hayes shook his head. “He’s stable. That’s all we’ve got.”
Leah nodded, eyes drifting toward the trauma bay window. She saw Elijah standing there, still as stone. “He’s not leaving that room,” she murmured.
“No,” Hayes said. “He’s not.”
Leah swallowed hard. “I don’t blame him.”
Hayes didn’t either.
###
Trauma Bay — Elijah Greyhawk
The medical team cleared the room, leaving only a nurse and the steady beep of the monitor. The doctor approached Elijah. “He’s stable enough to move to the ICU,” the doctor said. “But he’s not waking up yet. His system needs time.”
Elijah nodded, eyes never leaving Chet. “Can I stay with him?” he asked.
The doctor hesitated. “Family only.”
Elijah’s jaw tightened. “He doesn’t have family.”
The doctor studied him for a moment — the exhaustion, the fear, the fierce protectiveness.
Then he nodded. “You can stay.”
Elijah exhaled shakily. “Thank you.”
The doctor left. Elijah pulled a chair to the bedside and sat, taking Chet’s hand gently in his.
“You’re safe,” he whispered. “You’re out. Just come back to me.”
Chet didn’t move. But Elijah stayed.
###
Trauma Unit Hallway — Carter Hayes and Leah Gagnon
Hayes rubbed a hand over his face. “We need to start the debrief soon. Command’s already asking for updates.”
Leah nodded. “I’ll prep the files. But… not yet.”
Hayes looked at her. She looked exhausted. Pale. Shaken. But steady.
“Not yet,” Hayes agreed.
They both turned toward the trauma bay. In Elijah's direction. Toward Chet. Toward the line between survival and loss. And they waited.