The nurses scrambled. I ripped open the emergency kit just as the boy stopped moving.
No twitch.
No breath.
No heartbeat.
No.
“Starting compressions,” I snapped, climbing onto the edge of the bed and pressing both palms to his chest. “Darian—charge defib if this doesn’t work.”
“One step ahead of you.”
“Come on, kid,” I hissed through clenched teeth. “Don’t you dare quit on me.”
I counted compressions aloud, every beat a scream in my chest.
Twenty. Thirty.
Still no pulse.
The crash cart rolled in and Darian handed me the paddles, already glowing faintly blue. Witches had charmed them months ago to work even on wolf hearts.
“Clear!” I shouted.
Thud.
The boy’s body jerked.
Still no breath.
“Again—clear!”
Thud.
He gasped.
The sharp inhale made the entire room flinch. The nur
