I blinked hard. Swabbed the insertion site. Found the vein by touch and slid the needle in on the first try. Blood flashed into the chamber.
“Good stick,” I muttered to no one. “Securing line.”
The saline bag went up. The drip started. I adjusted the flow rate and taped everything down, my movements mechanical, precise, completely divorced from the chaos happening inside my chest.
Knox groaned.
The sound was low, guttural, dragged up from somewhere deep in his unconscious mind. His head turned slightly on the pillow. His unswollen eye flickered beneath the lid.
“He’s coming around,” I said.
Dr. Mercer moved to his head, penlight in hand. “Knox. Knox, can you hear me?”
Another groan. His right hand twitched against the restraint, chain rattling against metal.
“Knox, I need you to open your eyes.”
His lid cracked open. Just a sliver. Just enough to reveal the silver-blue iris underneath, hazy and unfocused. His gaze wandered the ceiling, the lights, the faces hovering above him.
And then it found me.
For one infinite second, everything stopped.
“Harper.” My name on his lips was barely a whisper. Broken. Rough. Like he’d been gargling glass.
“I’m here,” I said, and I didn’t recognize my own voice. “You’re in the infirmary. You’re safe.”
His eye closed again. His body went slack.
“Pupils equal and reactive,” Dr. Mercer announced, clicking off her penlight. “GCS is eight. He needs a CT. Where are those EMTs?”
As if on cue, the doors burst open. Two paramedics in navy uniforms wheeled in a transport stretcher, their boots loud against the floor.
“What do we have?”
“Thirty-five-year-old male, assault victim,” Dr. Mercer rattled off. “Multiple blunt force traumas to the head and torso.GCS eight. Possible TBI with loss of consciousness, possible rib fractures left side. BP ninety over sixty, pulse one twelve. He’ll need head and chest imaging.”
The paramedics nodded, already moving to transfer him. After the CO uncuffed him, I helped guide the backboard beneath Knox’s body, supporting his neck, trying not to look at the way his face had swollen even further in the last ten minutes.
“Watch the restraints,” the CO said.
The paramedics secured Knox to the transport stretcher, strapping him in with practiced efficiency. The chains clinked as they adjusted around the rails.
I did one final neuro check. Penlight in his eye. Pupil constricting appropriately. Good. Still responsive. Still there.
“Pupils equal and reactive,” I reported. “Four millimeters bilaterally.”
“Got it.” The paramedic made a note. “We’re rolling.”
They started toward the door. I followed.
“Harper.” Dr. Mercer’s voice stopped me three steps in. “Where do you think you’re going?”
I turned. “Someone should monitor him in transit. If his neuro status changes?—”
“The EMTs are more than capable of monitoring him.”
“They don’t know his baseline. I do. I’ve treated him multiple times. If his pupils change and they don’t have a reference point?—”
