The pager went off.
Both of them flinched.
Reality crashed back in with clinical efficiency.
Daisy Carter. Vitals trending down.
Maggie was already moving. “Get dressed. Now.”
They stepped back into Oakridge together like nothing had changed.
And yet—everything had.
On the floor, Evie was sharper than ever.
Focused. Precise. Untouchable in her own way.
Evie was halfway through reviewing Daisy’s labs when the monitor tone dipped, then dipped again. Blood pressure trending down. Heart rate climbing. The kind of slide that didn’t announce itself loudly until it was already underway.
“BP’s dropping,” Evie said, already moving.
She didn’t raise her voice. She didn’t need to.
Maggie was there a second later.
“What’ve we got?” Maggie asked, her tone level, eyes already scanning the room—monitors, IV lines, Daisy’s ashen face, Kara frozen near the wall like she’d been glued there by fear.
“MAP’s under sixty,” Evie replied. “Lactate’s up. Cultures still pending.”
Maggie nodded once. “Pressors. Fluids wide open. Get respiratory in here.”
Evie was already at the head of the bed, hands steady as she adjusted the oxygen mask, checking Daisy’s airway, watching the rise and fall of her chest. Daisy’s eyes fluttered open, unfocused.
“Daisy,” Evie said gently, leaning close enough to be heard. “You’re in the hospital. We’re right here.”
Daisy’s fingers twitched, searching.
Evie took her hand without thinking.
Behind her, Maggie was orchestrating the room with quiet authority. Orders clipped and precise. Nurses moved faster when she spoke—not because she barked, but because she never wasted words.
“Start norepinephrine,” Maggie said. “Low dose. Let’s see how she responds.”
Evie glanced at the monitor, then back to Maggie. “Given her directive?—”
“I know,” Maggie said. “We stay within it.”
No debate. No friction.
That was the thing that made Evie’s chest tighten.
They weren’t fighting.
They weren’t circling each other.
They werein sync.
Too much so.
