The ER froze. Conversations died mid-sentence. Even Aris, ready to scold the intruders, stopped when he realized these weren’t random soldiers. They moved with purpose—sweeping the room, clearing corners, assessing threats the way only elite operators did.
The leader stepped forward, removing his sunglasses. Jackson Thorne. Former Commander of a Navy Special Warfare team. Maya hadn’t seen him in three years, not since she’d sworn she was done with combat medicine.
Aris shoved his way toward them, puffing up his chest. “You can’t just barge into a hospital! Who are you people?”
Thorne ignored him. His attention was locked on Maya. “Vance. We have a man down. He won’t make it to the Naval hospital.”
Maya’s throat tightened. “Who?”
“Viper,” Thorne said. “Gunshot wound to the upper chest. Artery involvement. He’s bleeding out.”
A sharp, painful memory surged—Viper laughing during a sandstorm, bragging endlessly about his dog as if he were immune to danger. The kid was too stubborn to die. Or so she thought.
“Why bring him here?” Maya asked quietly.
“Because you’re here,” Thorne replied. “And you’re the only one who can fix this in time.”
Before she could answer, Kelly whispered to Aris, “They’re here for her? She’s the slow one.”
Thorne heard it. He turned, jaw clenching. “Slow? That woman dragged two of my men out of a burning Humvee and kept all of us alive in situations you couldn’t dream of. Show some respect.”
Aris flushed, but still attempted to reassert authority. “Even if she has military experience, I am the attending here. You’ll follow my protocol.”
Thorne stepped close enough that Aris had to tilt his head back. “Protocol is bleeding out in a helicopter on your roof.”
Maya inhaled deeply, her hesitation dissolving. “I’ll help. But I need a trauma kit with vascular clamps, O-neg units, and someone who can follow orders without panicking.”
Kelly looked offended. “I take orders from doctors, not—”
Maya’s tone snapped like a command detonator. “Then consider this a consult order. Move.”
Kelly ran, startled into obedience.
The elevator ride to the roof felt impossibly short. As the doors slid open, the cold wind slapped them, carrying the roar of the helicopter’s rotors. Inside the aircraft, a medic knelt over Viper, hands buried in blood-soaked gauze.
“Maya!” he cried. “He’s slipping!”
She stepped into the bird, the familiar metallic scent of military-grade trauma burning into her lungs.
She reached for gloves.
She reached for clamps.
She reached for the part of herself she thought she’d buried.
“Let’s save him,” she said.
The helicopter shook as Maya knelt beside Viper. His skin was gray, breaths shallow, blood soaking through every layer the medic tried to pack. The wound near his clavicle pulsed with a terrifying rhythm—an arterial spray that would stop only when the vessel was secured.
“Pressure?” Maya asked.
“Falling fast,” the medic replied. “Fifty over thirty and dropping.”
She took over instantly, fingers diving into the wound. The heat of fresh blood splashed her wrist. Her mind shifted into combat mode—calm, focused, impossibly clear.
“There,” she murmured. “I’ve got the bleeder.”
Thorne leaned into the doorway of the aircraft. “What do you need?”
“Stability,” Maya said. “Hold this retractor exactly where I place it—and don’t move unless I tell you.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, surprising Aris, who lingered just outside the bird, pale and useless.
For twenty breathless minutes, Maya worked with the precision of a surgeon and the urgency of a battlefield medic. She clamped the torn vessel, stitched the arterial edges, and packed the cavity to control further bleeding. The medic managed vitals while Thorne provided physical stabilization as if he’d trained for this role.
Finally—mercifully—the monitors began a slow climb.
“Blood pressure rising,” the medic confirmed. “Seventy… eighty… ninety over sixty.”
Viper sucked in a ragged breath. His eyes cracked open. “Val?” he whispered.
Maya exhaled for the first time in minutes. “You’re late for your check-in, Marine.”
A ghost of a smile tugged at his lips before he drifted into safer unconsciousness.
They transported him down to the ICU, where the hospital team took over. Maya stood outside the room afterward, streaked with dried blood and sweat, feeling lighter and heavier at the same time.
When she stepped into the hallway, the entire ER staff was waiting. Aris avoided her eyes. Kelly looked humbled.
The hospital administrator, Mr. Dawson, approached nervously. “Ms. Vance… or should I say Lieutenant Commander? We didn’t know—your file—”
“You didn’t need to know,” Maya said. “You just needed to treat your staff with respect.”
Thorne stepped beside her. “We’re opening a new training facility in San Diego. We need someone who’s seen real combat medicine—and can teach others to survive it.”
Maya looked at the mop bucket in the corner one last time. Then at Thorne. Then at the ICU door where Viper rested.
“I’m ready,” she said.
They walked out of Mercy General together, sunlight breaking across the parking lot.
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