Page 60 of Scout

Flatline.

We don’t stop. Not yet. One more shock. One more Hail Mary. Someone whispers something I don’t comprehend. My jaw clenches.

Two minutes pass. Then five.

She’s pale, motionless. Everything we’re doing feels like dragging a body through water. Dead weight. No response. No change.

I glance at the monitor one last time before shifting my gaze to the clock on the wall. It’s been almost twenty minutes.

I suck in a slow breath, force it out, and speak the words none of us want to say but all of us know are coming.

“Time of death: 8:06 PM,” I say, my voice flat but final.

I peel off my gloves and gown, drop them into the biohazard bin with a heavy thud. The room goes quiet, just the soft hum of machines still running, they don’t know the fight’s over.

We did everything we could. And it still wasn’t enough. But part of me wonders if she ever gave us a real chance.

I return to Trauma Bay Two. The girl is now stabilized, her vitals within normal limits. She’s just come back from her CT scan—no signs of intracranial bleeding. Lucky. She’s going to need staples for the scalp laceration and stitches for the arm wound, but overall, she’s okay.

I exhale slowly, letting the edge of urgency ease off.

“Where’s my mom?” she mumbles.

“You’re at the hospital,” I say gently, stepping to her bedside. “You were in an accident, but you’re safe now.”

The door opens and Kendrix walks in.

“Do you need me?” he asks, eyes already scanning the monitors.

“I think we’re good,” I reply, motioning toward the vitals. “Stable. CT was clear.”

Her eyes well up with tears, lower lip trembling. “My mom was drunk. I need my brother. Where’s my phone? I want to call my brother.”

“Let’s try to stay calm,” I tell her. “We’ll help you get your phone.”

“Can we call your dad?” Kendrix asks, voice soft.

“Dead,” she snaps. “I want my brother now.”

The door cracks open behind us, then swings wider. A nurse pokes her head in, breathless.

“Sorry,” she says quickly. “He was adamant he had to see her immediately. Police called him—he’s her next of kin.”

“We’re good. Let him–” I don’t even get to finish before someone is pushing into the room.

I freeze. Heart thudding.

Tall. Lean. Pale as hell. He moves like he’s sprinting through a nightmare, barely registering the people around him—eyes locked straight ahead.

Scout.

His gaze goes straight to the bed—straight to her—and something shifts in the air. His face crumples, all panic and raw emotion, and he doesn’t hesitate.

“Junie Boo,” he breathes, and fuck, it hits me hard.

Junie Boo.

Everything slots into place in an instant. This girl—bloody, bandaged, barely holding it together—is his.