Chapter 5 Working the Same Rhythm

• The radio call came in: a pediatric drowning. The nurses went quiet. These were the calls that hit differently—the ones that felt heavier than the usual chaos.
• "Six-year-old male," the dispatcher crackled. "Pulled from a backyard pool. Bystander CPR in progress. ETA four minutes."
• Emily jumped into action. She cleared the trauma bay and set up supplies with a practiced, efficient speed. "Bay One!" she called out. "Get the peds resus cart and warming blankets. Notify Thornwood now; don't wait for the page."
• Kael arrived before the ambulance doors even opened. He always seemed to be exactly where the worst crisis was happening. Emily didn't know how he did it, but she was glad he was there.
• The boy arrived gray-blue and lifeless. Paramedics worked the bag as his father sprinted alongside, shouting "Eli, Eli, come on buddy!" in a voice broken by terror.
• "Get him in the room. Get the dad out," Kael commanded. His voice was flat and controlled. "Carter, with me."
• Emily fell into step with Kael. They moved in perfect sync, like one person in two bodies. She handed him equipment before he asked and called out vitals before he needed them.
• "No pulse. Starting compressions," Kael said."I've got the airway," Emily replied, the tube ready instantly.
• Two minutes passed. Then three. The monitor stayed flat—a long, steady tone that Emily had heard in her nightmares. Behind the glass, she could hear the father screaming, held back by security. It made her chest ache.
• "EPI's in," she reported. "Continuing compressions."
• "Come on," Kael muttered. He wasn't talking to her; he was bargaining with the universe. His hands remained steady and relentless, but his jaw was tight.
• At four minutes, the line on the monitor twitched. Then it happened again.
• "I've got a rhythm," Emily said, breathless. "Weak, but it's there."
• "Don't stop compressions until I say so," Kael replied. He was watching the monitor, and Emily saw his shoulders relax just a fraction.
• After six minutes, the boy's heart took over. It was weak and thready, but it was beating. The team exhaled together—the collective relief of people who had just fought something back from the edge.
• "Prep him for PICU transfer," Kael ordered. "Imaging as soon as he's stable." He peeled off his gloves and looked at Emily. "Good work."
• "You saved him," she said.
• "We saved him," he replied simply. "I can't do compressions and airway management alone in six minutes. I had someone who knew exactly what I needed."
• Emily felt a warmth spread through her chest.
• A few minutes later, the father was allowed back in. Emily watched as Kael crouched down to the man's level with a gentle, deliberate kindness.
• "His heart is beating on its own," Kael told him. "The next twenty-four hours are critical, and I won't lie to you about that. But he is here. He's fighting."
• The father, soaked and trembling, made a sound that wasn't quite a word. Kael placed a brief, human hand on his shoulder before stepping away to give the man privacy to break down.
• Later, back at the nurses' station, the adrenaline finally faded. "You're good at that," Emily told him quietly. "Telling the truth without taking away the hope."
• "I've had practice," he replied. He didn't explain further, and she didn't ask. She realized there was a side of Kael that only appeared during a crisis—something beneath the ice.
• "You didn't use to be like this," Priya said, passing by with a chart. "Six months ago, he would have called it and walked away. Something's different."
• Priya didn't say what—or who—was different.
• Emily felt Kael go still beside her. She didn't dare look at him.
• She feared that whatever was on his face would be too easy to read, and far too much for them to handle in a hospital hallway at five in the morning. They were running on adrenaline and a shared rhythm that frightened her more than any scar ever could.