Sharon's arms burned.
The pain had moved past muscle and into something deeper—bone-deep, nerve-deep—like her body was warning her it couldn't keep doing this forever. She ignored it. She pressed down again, hard, forcing rhythm into Nguyen's chest while the monitor screamed its refusal.
"One—two—three—four—"
Nguyen's body moved under her hands like it didn't belong to itself anymore. Too loose. Too stiff. Wrong in ways Sharon didn't have time to catalog.
"Again," McAllister snapped.
"Charging," Patel said, voice raw.
Reyes stood at Nguyen's head, bagging oxygen with hands that shook so badly the mask kept slipping. Tears streaked down her face unchecked. She didn't wipe them away. She didn't have the coordination left.
"Clear!"
Sharon lifted her hands.
The shock hit.
Nguyen arched violently against the restraints, back bowing, head snapping sideways hard enough that the pillow slid. The straps squealed. The bed frame rattled. A wet sound tore out of Nguyen's throat—cut off by the oxygen mask.
The monitor flickered.
Nothing.
"Goddammit," McAllister snarled. "Again."
Sharon didn't wait for the order. She went right back to compressions, pressing down until she felt resistance, then deeper, then the awful give that told her ribs were flexing under force.
Her breath came out in sharp bursts through her mask.
"Come on," she muttered, not kind, not hopeful. "You don't get to leave like this."
Patel slammed another med through the IV. "Epi's in."
Reyes squeezed the bag harder, almost frantic. "Breathe. Please. Just—breathe."
Outside the room, the hallway noise rose—fear feeding on fear. Someone shouted. Someone else screamed. A baby cried and didn't stop.
Then—
The monitor twitched.
A jagged line staggered across the screen.
Patel leaned in so fast his shoulder brushed Sharon's arm. "Wait—"
Another blip.
Then another.
A rhythm—thin, ugly, barely holding together—but undeniably there.
"We've got a pulse," Patel said, disbelief cracking his voice. "Weak. But there."
Sharon didn't stop compressions right away. She gave it two more pushes, like she didn't trust reality not to rip it away the second she relaxed.
Then she pulled back, chest heaving.
"Pressure?" she demanded.
Angela checked, hands steady despite the tremor in her voice. "Ninety over forty-eight. Holding."
Reyes let out a broken sound and had to grab the edge of the bed to stay upright.
Nguyen's lashes fluttered.
Not waking.
Not gone.
Hovering.
Her jaw clenched beneath the mask. A muffled sound vibrated in her throat—low, ugly, restrained.
"She's trying," McAllister said quietly.
Sharon wiped sweat from her forehead with the back of her glove. "Keep her sedated. No one loosens those restraints."
Nguyen's body jerked once—a seizure ripple, small but unmistakable.
"Watch that," Patel warned. "She's unstable."
The hallway suddenly erupted.
Footsteps pounded. A voice shouted—high, panicked—
"Dr. Leesburg!"
The door flew open hard enough to hit the wall.
A nurse stumbled in, breathless, face flushed, eyes wild.
"It's Kimmie Barlow," she gasped. "Her water just broke—and Troy—he's losing it. He's screaming, he's trying to push past security—he just shoved someone—"
The words barely landed before a crash echoed down the hall.
A cart slammed into something.
A man's voice roared—unhinged, furious, terrified.
"MOVE! THAT'S MY WIFE!"
Reyes flinched. "Oh my God."
Sharon closed her eyes for half a second.
Of course it was Kimmie.
Of course it was Troy.
Because nothing happened one at a time anymore.
Sharon turned sharply. "How far along?"
"Eight months," the nurse said. "She's bleeding a little. She's terrified. He's making it worse."
Another crash echoed—metal on tile. A woman screamed.
Daniels' voice cut through the chaos outside, terrifyingly calm and loud enough to carry:
"TROY. STEP BACK. NOW."
"No!" Troy screamed. "You don't get to tell me what to do! She's going to die in here! You people don't know what you're doing!"
Something shattered.
Glass.
Someone shouted, "Get down!"
Inside the room, Nguyen's monitor chirped again—warning, sharp, wrong.
"Sharon," Patel said urgently. "Her rhythm—"
"I know," Sharon snapped.
She looked between Nguyen's bed and the open door where the world was actively falling apart.
"Patel, you stay," she ordered. "Angela, you help him. If she crashes again, you call it immediately. I don't care what else is happening."
Angela nodded, already moving.
Sharon ripped off her gloves and pulled on new ones in one smooth motion. She looked at McAllister and Reyes.
"We're delivering a baby," she said.
Reyes swallowed hard. "Now?"
"Yes. Now."
The nurse wrung her hands. "Troy's—he's violent. He tried to shove Officer Daniels—"
As if summoned, Daniels appeared in the doorway, jaw tight, one hand braced against the frame.
"He's not getting past me," Daniels said. "But the hallway's on edge. People are panicking."
"Clear it," Sharon said. "I need space."
Daniels nodded once and turned, voice carrying authority like a weapon.
"Everyone back against the walls. NOW."
Troy's voice roared again. "YOU CAN'T KEEP ME FROM HER!"
Daniels didn't shout back.
He stepped closer, voice low and lethal. "You touch one more person and I will put you on the floor."
A beat.
Then Troy screamed—a sound that cracked into something ugly and desperate—and collapsed against the wall, fists slamming into it as he slid down.
"My baby," he sobbed. "My baby—"
Sharon pushed past them and into the room where Kimmie was half-curled on the bed, soaked with sweat and terror, hands gripping the sheets.
"I didn't mean to," Kimmie cried. "I heard screaming and then it just—started—I don't want to do this here—"
Sharon grabbed her hand. "Kimmie. Look at me."
Kimmie locked onto her like a drowning person.
"You're having this baby," Sharon said, steady, unyielding. "Right now. And we are not leaving you."
Another contraction hit.
Kimmie screamed.
Down the hall, a monitor alarm screamed back.
Somewhere behind them, Nguyen's room erupted into movement again—voices raised, urgent.
"Seizure activity—"
Sharon didn't turn.
She couldn't.
Because everything was happening at once.
Because Troy was on the verge of snapping.
Because Nguyen was balanced on a knife's edge.
Because a baby was coming into a world already drenched in blood and fear.
And because no one—no one—was coming to save them.
They were all they had.
And the night wasn't finished yet.