Nate pushes his way into the room, and he’s on the guy in seconds. “What did you give her?”

“I don’t know what you’re—”

My cousin shoves the guy, hard, and I’m surprised, but that’s stupid—just because he’s wearing one of my blouses doesn’t mean he’s not strong.

“Listen, you Harvard fuck, you tell me what you gave my cousin or I’ll—”

“Okay, fuck, stop. Oxy, with a little—just a little—fentanyl in it.” The death drug. The one killing everyone. “But it wasn’t—”

“How much?” I say.

“Come on, baby,” Drew says just as the other guy says he can’t remember, maybe eighty milligrams, but she’d had something before he gave them to her and Drew says, “Fuck,” and I have never seen someone look at another person with so much love and terror as Drew looks at my sister and then I hear the sirens.

My sister is dying.

“Come back,” Drew says. Because she left. Because she’s gone. “Come back.”

Nate runs out and then the paramedics rush in and Drew moves away, his eyes never leaving Hannah. We all talk at once.

“What’s her name?” the paramedic says, all business. She checks Hannah’s pulse, frowns.

“Hannah,” I say.

“Nalaxone,” she says, holding out her hand. Her partner places a syringe in it and she takes Nah’s arm, finds a vein, and slides the needle in. Nothing.

We wait.

Nothing.

My sister is dead.

Then—

Hannah gasps, her back arching as the air rushes into her lungs. I call out to her, and she looks at me, eyes glazed and wide with fear.

“You’re okay,” I say. “It’s me. You’re okay.”

She doesn’t say anything. I push past the paramedics, grab her hand. It’s so cold.

“Hannah. It’s me. It’s me.”

I wait, and the longer I wait, the more my heart sinks. Brain damage. I’ve lost her after all.

A sudden, deep knowing fills me: I will survive this. I love her, and I will survive loving her. Loving anyone.

“Mae?” she rasps.

“Yes.” I’m sobbing hard, and I can barely get the words out. “It’s me. You’re okay? You’re okay. You’re okay now.”

There’s movement out of the corner of my eye, and Drew is turning around, his back to us, shoulders shaking, his forehead against the wall.

Nah turns over and vomits all over the floor. Everyone but me jumps back. I keep my eyes on my sister, one hand in hers, and I wipe her mouth with the sheet while the paramedics do things.

“Don’t be scared,” I say. “There’s help.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispers.

“It’s okay. Everything’s okay now,” I say.