Emily squinted against the harsh sunlight reflecting off the pier, her head pounding with each step. The salty sea breeze did little to ease her hangover as she and Lucas approached the quaint cafe, its weathered wooden sign creaking in the wind.
"I need caffeine. Stat," Emily muttered, her voice raspy.
Lucas chuckled, his hand on the small of her back. "I think we all do after last night."
As they entered, Emily's eyes immediately locked onto Ryan, sitting at a corner table. Her stomach clenched, a mix of residual anger and unexpected nerves.
"Let's get this over with," she whispered to Lucas, steeling herself.
They made their way over, the floorboards groaning beneath their feet. Ryan stood, his usually impeccable appearanc
The Rusty Anchor glowed like a beacon against the darkening sky, its windows warm with golden light that spilled onto the cobblestones. Freya's hand rested lightly on Dan's elbow as they made their way up the path, her touch both steadying and electric. He moved slower than he would have liked, each step measured, but there was something satisfying about walking under his own power after days of being confined to her couch."You're doing great," Freya said, her auburn pixie cut catching the lantern light as she glanced up at him. "Though I have to say, watching you move like an arthritic grandpa is doing wonders for my ego as a medical professional."Dan's laugh came out as a slight wheeze. "Glad my broken ribs are good for something."The maître d' led them to a corner table with a view of the moonlit o
Time blended in a haze of painkillers, takeaway containers, and marathon viewings of extended editions. Dan's bruises shifted from violent purple to sickly yellow, marking time like the most unfortunate mood ring ever created. But it was the invisible healing – the knitting of cracked ribs beneath his skin – that tested his patience the most.Five days had passed since he'd first arrived at Freya's flat, and while he'd graduated from needing help to stand up to managing most tasks on his own, the constant ache in his chest served as an unwelcome reminder of his limitations. The first morning, she'd had to help him get dressed. By day three, he could pull on his own t-shirt, even if the movement made him wince.Freya watched his progress with the calculating eye of someone who'd seen countless patients push themselves too hard, too fast. She doled ou
For the next hour, Freya demonstrated proper recovery positions, explained different types of seizures, and walked through emergency response protocols. She described the various medic alert items first responders should look for, from jewelry to wallet cards to phone apps. The room remained engaged, with officers taking notes and asking increasingly specific questions."What if someone's wearing a medic alert bracelet but isn't responsive enough to tell us where their medication is?" asked a paramedic near the back."Not everyone has it, but check their jacket pockets first," Freya replied. "Most people keep emergency medication in an easily accessible spot. If you can't find it, that's when you need to get them to emergency services immediately."An officer raised her hand. "How do we distinguish between someone w
The meeting room on the second floor buzzed with contained energy. Officers in various states of uniform filled the chairs, some clutching paper coffee cups, others with notebooks open before them. Conversations died down as they entered, replaced by the rustle of shifting bodies and squeaking chairs.Captain Reeves took his place at the front of the room, his presence commanding attention without effort. "Good afternoon, everyone. We have two special guests with us today, Dr. Freya Anderson from Seabridge General's Emergency Department, and Mr. Daniel Foster, former Sergeant with Her Majesty's Armed Forces."The room settled into attentive silence as Captain Reeves continued, his voice taking on a more somber tone. "Recently, we had an incident at The Iron Horse. Mr. Foster experienced a medical emergency - a seizure - that was initially misidentified by respo
Light filtered through Freya's bedroom curtains, painting stripes across rumpled sheets and two intertwined bodies. Dan's eyes opened first, adjusting to the gentle glow as his awareness settled into place – the warmth of Freya beside him, the dull ache in his muscles, and the peculiar peace that comes after a storm.He turned his head carefully, mindful of the stiffness in his neck, and studied her sleeping face. Her short auburn hair was mussed against the pillow, her expression soft and unguarded in sleep. Something tightened in his chest that had nothing to do with his injuries.Dan pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, breathing in the faint scent of her shampoo. Her eyelids fluttered, and a smile curved her lips before she even opened her eyes."How are you feeling?" she asked, voice still rough with sl
The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across Dan's sleeping form as Freya adjusted the recliner, careful not to wake him. His face was peaceful now, a stark contrast to the confusion and pain she'd witnessed in the ER. The bruises along his jaw had darkened to purple, mapping out the path of his fall like constellations of hurt.She pulled the soft throw blanket from the back of the sofa, draping it over him with the practiced gentleness of someone used to tending to the vulnerable. Her fingers lingered on his shoulder, monitoring the steady rise and fall of his breathing. Each inhale was a quiet victory, a reminder that despite everything, he was here. Safe. Alive.The weight of what could have happened pressed against her chest like a physical thing. Eight minutes. The seizure had lasted eight minutes, and no one had known to check for his medication. No o