69

69

Riley

Flashing red and blue lights cut through the night as the wail of sirens grew deafening. The ambulance screeched to a stop, tires skidding slightly on the asphalt. The doors burst open, and two paramedics rushed toward us, their movements quick and efficient.

One of them, a woman with dark hair pulled into a ponytail, knelt beside Ethan while the other, a tall man with a sharp gaze, turned to me. “What happened?” His voice was firm, but not unkind.

I opened my mouth, but my brain felt sluggish, fogged by the crash, by the weight of everything that had just happened. “There was… a car. Headlights. It came out of nowhere,” I stammered. My hands trembled violently as I gestured toward Ethan. “He hit his head. He—he was unconscious for a minute, but I found a pulse. He’s breathing, but it’s weak.”

The female paramedic was already checking Ethan’s vitals, pressing fingers to his neck, then gently lifting his eyelids to check his pupils. “Pulse is thready,” she muttered. “Possible