“Shit, are you okay?” she asked, her words a dry, trembling croak.
“Just this damn headache…” Griffith mumbled, shaking his head.
“Do you need another shot of apex?”
“It’s just broken glass,” he said.
She gave a cursory look around the small medbay. “What glass?”
“Not back yet.”
She took a dry swallow, brow creasing. “What?”
Griffith didn’t look at her. He scratched the top of his head, then let out a long breath. “Small mercies…”
She narrowed her eyes.
It had to be a time ripple. Maybe the real Griffith had walked away when she wasn’t looking, and a doppelg?nger had replaced him and started spouting nonsense.
But it took less than a glance to survey the room and confirm there was no second Griffith anywhere in sight.
“Griff, I don’t know what you’re—” She stopped short as his eyes closed. His knees gave way and he collapsed, head snapping hard against the metal decking.
She rushed to him, dropping to the floor and gripping his shoulders. His body had gone completely limp, head lolling to one side.
“Griffith!” He didn’t stir.
His thick muscles went rigid. A vise tightened around her throat, squeezing the air from her lungs.
His shoulders twisted, then his whole body convulsed as his muscles spasmed. It lasted a few gut-wrenching seconds before he went limp again. Seconds later, his chest lifted up off the floor in another convulsion, his head hanging lifelessly. His eyelids slid open, showing only the whites of his eyes as they rolled back into his head, shocking her from her paralyzed state.
Then things began to happen very quickly.
She screamed into her nexus, and her Imprints flooded her arms. She and Warner hauled Griffith’s tremoring body through the hatch and into Kharon Gate. In the medbay, someone pulled a cot away from the wall so they could set him down. She gripped Jackin’s vest and yelled something at him. Mesa stood transfixed, and Cavalon ran his hands through his hair and stared at Griffith in stone-faced shock. Emery rushed up to face Cavalon, yelling at him to do something, then his blue eyes, terrified and confused, locked onto Adequin’s.
She had no idea why she’d even looked at him. She didn’t know if he could help. Three degrees, but he wasn’t a doctor. But he’d been her go-to problem solver for the last twenty-four hours, so why not this too?
Cavalon finally blinked, then his pale face flushed and his doe-eyed stare hardened. He gripped Jackin’s arm and said something into his ear. Jackin took her by the shoulders and dragged her toward the door.
Cavalon leaned over Griffith’s twitching body, and the last thing she heard before Jackin ushered her out was Cavalon’s brisk demand, “Get me a tPA cartridge.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Somehow, Cavalon got the man stabilized.
He wasn’t entirely sure what he’d done to accomplish it. He’d gone into some kind of shocked, crisis state. An autopilot of sorts, where his brain filtered out every other bit of knowledge he’d ever acquired and nothing remained except anything he’d ever heard, even in passing mention, about emergency medicine.
It’d been that look Rake had given him, like he alone possessed the ability to save the man. Like he was her only hope, and if he failed, she’d be broken forever. It’d kicked his brain into motion, forced him to put aside any and all self-doubt, and just fix it.
Now, Griffith lay motionless on the cot, breathing steadily. He remained unconscious—probably for the best. His body needed time to heal.