Page 485 of End Game

“I'm here.”

“I hear sirens.”

My knees nearly give out with relief. “Good.”

I hear footsteps.

A door opening.

Voices.

Then heavier footfalls.

I listen as a calm, male voice begins the questions I know too well.

“Hey, I'm with fire. What's her name?”

“Cameron. Cameron Wilde.”

“What happened?”

Ronan starts explaining—he says all the right things.

Diabetic, type one.

UTI on antibiotics.

Running high today.

She has been good with her corrections.

Ketones were low when she checked a few hours ago.

Hard to wake.

Meter reads HI.

Then another voice joins them.

Different cadence.

This is the paramedic—I can tell immediately. The other was an EMT.

He asks more precise questions about insulin, her pump, what her normal blood sugar range is, what medications she takes, any allergies she has.

The answers from Ronan and the follow-up questions from the medic come cleanly enough that my own breathing finally slows.

They know what they're doing.

I know what competent sounds like.

Ronan’s voice comes back. “Griffin?”

“Yeah.”

“They're putting an IV in.”

“Good.”