A few quick injections, one pill—and a man who’d been slipping away was suddenly breathing again.
What kind of technique was that?
What kind of medication could reverse death in under a minute?
Mateo stood there frozen, watching his brother draw breath as if the world had just started again.
Only Maeve stayed calm. She handed Declan a tissue. “While you were on an IV drip, someone came into your room and poisoned you.”
The door opened and Naomi rushed in. “Declan—are you okay?”
Declan’s face was still paper-white, his body weak as if the life had been wrung out of him, but he managed a strained look her way.
“Sorry, Naomi. I scared you.”
Maeve nodded toward the doctors. “Put him back on the monitors.”
The male doctor was the first to recover from shock. He barked orders, and the staff hurried to reattach the equipment.
He didn’t believe it. He couldn’t.
Those numbers had crashed too far. This had to be a last flicker—one final flare before the end.
But the monitors lit up, and reality slapped him hard.
The readings began to crawl back into the safe zone. His oxygen level steadied, the terrifying dip easing.
His pulse, which had been frighteningly slow, climbed back into a normal rhythm—and kept strengthening.
The doctor finally exhaled, humbled. “Miss… would you be willing to discuss your emergency protocol?”
Maeve’s answer was immediate. “No.”
The doctor just stared at her, stunned into silence, his confidence visibly rattled.
Half an hour later, Declan’s vitals had stabilized completely. Whatever had almost taken him was forced to let go.
Once the doctors were ushered out, Naomi leaned in and murmured to Mateo, “Don’t let today get out. Maeve hates trouble.”
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