I snap my mouth shut. Kim’s barely blinking. Her fingers gesture as she imparts code to the tiny metal specks in Nazarin’s brain.

Machines beep—Nazarin’s heartbeat speeds up, warning alarms ping. Nazarin arches on his Chair, his mouth open in a silent scream. He jerks as if he’s having a seizure, spittle flying from his mouth. The veins in his neck stand out.

His heart flatlines.

“Shit, shit, shit!” Kim’s fingers fly faster.

“What’s happening?” I have my hands over my mouth. I dart forward but Kim snarls at me to stay back. Nazarin is already turning grayish. His eyes are open and bulging, their whites red with burst capillaries.

“Shut up!” Kim takes another syringe and stabs it into his heart. I watch, unable to think, unable to speak.

I don’t want him to die.

Nazarin’s heart starts again, and he gasps, his breathing hoarse.

“Oh, thank Christ.” Kim slumps against a counter. “I told them, I fucking told them not to ask me to put in so many!”

Nazarin’s eyes are still open and staring. “Is he OK?” I ask.

The skin around Kim’s eyes and mouth is tight. She doesn’t answer. My mouth goes dry. I stay quiet, watching her work, clasping my hands together and whispering incoherently. It isn’t a prayer, not really, but maybe it’s a whisper to the universe, a hope that things will somehow work out all right.

Three minutes pass, but it feels like three hours. Kim nods, and the map of Nazarin’s brain disappears. Nazarin slumps against the seat, his eyes closed again, breathing through his mouth. He seems calmer, but he’s still dripping with sweat and twitching. Kim injects him with another syringe, this time in the shoulder, and the frantic beating of his heart slows. After another minute, his eyelids flutter.

He sits up slowly. “I feel like I’ve been hit by a hovercar.”

“You nearly said hi to Saint Peter. You have too many bugs in your brain. As soon as this op’s done, come to me. I’ll get them out.”

“I like ’em.”

Her eyes go distant again. “No. Get them out. I spend my life doing this, but sometimes I wonder if we’re doing too much to our brains too fast. The more I find out about the mind, the more I realize I don’t know and probably never will.” She presses the bridge of her nose with her fingers. “That was too close, sweet pea.”

Nazarin reaches out and puts a hand on her shoulder. “I’m OK, Kim. I’m OK.”

Kim gives him a hug, clutching his broad back. There’s something between them. Nothing romantic. It’s that sort of friendship where the term “friend” doesn’t seem strong enough.