I crack one eye open. “I prefer the kind of work where I sign things. Or tell people what to do. Or sit in chairs that roll.”
“You did good,” Luke says.
The words slip out quietly. I freeze. I turn my head to look at him.
“Did I?”
“Yeah. You didn’t drop him. And you didn’t cry.”
I huff a laugh, pushing my wet hair back from my face. My hand comes away slick with sweat. I must look hideous. “The night is young, Chief. The crying might still happen.”
Luke stares at me. In the dim amber light, his dark eyes are intense. He isn't looking at my ruined hair or my sweating face with his usual disdain. He’s looking at me like… like he’s actually seeing me.
It makes my heart hammer against my ribs harder than the stairs did.
“Lucas! Preston!” Max’s voice bellows from down the hall. “Stop lounging! The generators are fluctuating. We need manual ventilation in the ICU. Getup there!”
I groan, letting my head thunk back against the wall. “Does it ever end?”
Luke pushes himself up, his legs protesting. He extends a hand toward me.
I look at his hand. Then I look up at him. I take it. His grip is warm, firm, and calloused. He pulls me to my feet, and for a split second, we are standing too close. The heat radiating off him has nothing to do with the broken AC.
“No,” Luke says, his voice a little rougher than usual. “It never ends. Welcome to medicine, Dr. York.”
He doesn't let go of my hand immediately. I don't pull away.
“Lead the way, Dr. Silva,” I say softly.
We start running toward the ICU, the darkness of the hospital closing in around us.
Chapter 8
The Eye of the Storm
PRESTON
We are halfway to the ICU when the scream stops us.
It isn't a pain scream. It is a terror scream.
It’s coming from the Psych Ward on the 7th Floor.
“That’s not ICU,” I say, stopping on the landing.
“It’s Psych,” Luke says. “Dr. Evans is the physician on call. He’s… aggressive.”
We look at each other. Max said ICU. But the scream comes again.
“Detour?” I ask.
“Detour,” Luke confirms.
We burst onto the seventh floor. The atmosphere here is different. Downstairs, it was chaotic noise. Here, it’s a chaotic vibration. The air feels tight, like a rubber band stretched to its limit.
We round the corner to Room 704.
A crowd has gathered. Two security guards are standingwith their hands on their belts, looking tense. A nurse is pleading with someone inside.
