ICE NINETEEN: ANGELS IN SCRUBS.

MADISON’S POV:

The sirens hadn’t stopped since I rushed into the hospital.

Fifteen hours. That's how long I'd been on my feet since the emergency alert had shrieked through every hospital in the city. Code Red. All hands on deck.

I hadn’t taken a breath in hours. I’d barely left the trauma wing since the moment I left Thane. One school shooting. One lunatic with a machete. And now dozens of lives in our hands.

The images still burned behind my eyelids—children with eyes too wide, too knowing. The machete wounds that looked like abstract art painted in crimson. The way silence had settled over operating rooms like a heavy blanket, broken only by the steady beep of monitors fighting to keep hearts beating.

I’d lost count of how many patients I’d triaged today. How many shaky mothers I held, how many bloodstained gloves I changed, or how many times I swallowed the sting behind my eyes just to get through another procedure.

Some made it. Others… didn’t.

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to