Frozen.
Helpless.
Zion’s face was flushed deep red, his breathing uneven, his body trembling in a way that made the room feel suddenly too small.
“I called an ambulance,” Marcus said, his voice breaking. “They’re on their way, but—”
“They won’t make it in time,” Emily said.
Her voice was steady now.
Not emotional.
Not uncertain.
Certain.
She moved without hesitation.
Cool cloths.
Positioning.
Lowering his temperature.
Small, precise actions done with the confidence of someone who had done this before—someone who had failed once and refused to fail again.
