I didn’t respond as I ran by him, weaving around all the patients who were huddled near the entrance, and past triage. My bag slapped against my hip as my legs pushed into the ground, the hood of my sweatshirt bouncing on the back of my neck, my breath pounding in my lungs.

At the locked door, I dug for my badge and swiped it into the card reader. After watching it gradually open, I bolted down the hallway.

Fiona was standing in the center of the department, looking down each of the corridors, waiting to see which one I was going to come from. The second our eyes connected, she started bolting toward me.

“Oh, honey,” she cried, throwing her arms around my neck, her palm clenching the back of my head, squeezing me with a strength I didn’t know she had.

I gripped her shoulders, pushing her back so I could see her face. “What’s wrong?”

There was wetness around her eyes, streaks down her cheeks, and my throat was getting narrower as she took her time to respond.

“Whitney, I don’t even know how to say this …” She shook her head, her fingers finding mine. “Come on.” She pulled me down the rest of the hallway and around the main station.

My heart was beating so fast as we left the section of open rooms that were separated by long curtains and arrived at the private area.

“Sweetheart,” she said, stopping in front of a closed door. “I … oh God.” She was holding her chest with her other hand, her eyes filling.

“Fiona, what’s going on?” The back of my throat was burning, where the anxiety was beginning to thicken.

She wiped her face, covering her mouth for a moment before she said, “He was coding when he came in. We worked on him for over thirty minutes. We couldn’t get a pulse … we …” She swallowed, the tears now falling past her lips. “Dr. Montgomery tried everything.” She shook her head again, more wetness streaming down her face.

“You’re not making any sense.” I wanted to hug her into my arms, but I couldn’t. Not while I was trying to process what she was saying and ignore all the other chaos happening around us. “What are you trying to tell me?”

She reached for the knob on the door, holding it. “Whitney, it’s Caleb.”

My heart stopped, and a wave of nausea passed through me, trembling starting in my core. “What?”

“He was brought in by ambulance and—”

I put my hand on top of hers, forcing the handle to turn, and kicked the wooden door to make it open faster.

It took a few seconds before I could register what I was looking at.

When it hit me, I felt like a tourniquet had been tied around my goddamn throat, and there was nothing left in my lungs.