Chapter 12

I come back to myself in pieces. First is sound—too loud, too close, like someone pressed a speaker against my skull. “She’s a thirty‑ish female, hit at low speed, vitals holding—” If she dies that’s three this shift. Please don’t code on me, I’m already behind. Then light, white and brutal behind my eyelids. Something beeping in a rhythm that doesn’t match my heartbeat. Fabric scratching my skin. The chemical‑sweet tang of antiseptic. And then the worst part: thoughts....