The first thing I felt was cold.
Not the sharp kind. Not the kind that bites.
This was heavy. Wet. Sinking into my bones like I was being pulled underwater without moving at all.
Then sound bled in.
Muffled voices.
Rushed.
Panicked.
Too many at once.
“She’s crashing.”
“BP is dropping.”
“Get another line in.”
“Where’s the OB team.”
My brain tried to latch onto the words and failed. They slipped away, melted, came back distorted. I couldn’t open my eyes. My lashes felt glued shut. My body wouldn’t answer when I told it to move.
Adrian.
The thought came out of nowhere and punched straight through the fog.
Adrian.
I tried to say his name. My throat burned. Nothing came out but a thin, broken sound that might have been breath or might have been fear.
A hand squeezed mine.
Warm
