Nathan hung up and set the burner phone down. The apartment was silent again and for a long moment, Marco's words were the only thing in his head.
Tonight. No turning back.
He left the apartment and went for a quick run, keeping a steady pace until his legs felt the work. After about an hour, he headed back inside for a quick shower. Routine. Routine was safe. He went through his mornings the same way. He pulled on his paramedic uniform in silence, each piece of gear falling into place with practiced motions: shirt, radio strap, trauma shears, stethoscope. The uniform was more than clothes—it was a shield, a routine, the start of another day.
Paramedics carry their lives on their backs. Every tool means life or death: gloves for infection, tourniquets for bleeding out, airway bags for people who can't breathe. Narcan kits—slim plastic cases that have saved more lives in this city than any doctor could count. Nathan knew the weight of each piece, and not one of them was light.
The burner sat on the table behind him while his regular phone stayed in his pocket—one for the life he lived in daylight, the other for the one he lived at night.
The early morning air outside carried a damp chill. Nathan locked the door, slung his bag, and moved to the car.
His hands rested on the steering wheel for a moment before he started the engine. The pause wasn't for nothing. It was Detective Nina Carver's voice playing back in his head.
At the time, he hadn't thought much of it. It wasn't his car in the chase the previous night. But remembering her calm voice over the radio, and the way she took control of the situation, sent a chill down his spine. After they got away from the police cars, he'd had to sneak back for his car hours later, ducking under tape and praying the cops hadn't tagged it.
He'd told himself he was lucky.
In reality, he wasn't. Crime scenes are mapped, vehicles tagged, plates scanned. Cops don't need you to admit guilt—they just need to hear your answer and compare it to what they already know. Detective Nina wasn't guessing yesterday. She was confirming. Unknown to Nathan, his plates were already flagged before sunrise.
The city stirred around him as he drove. Buildings crowded each other on every block. To most people, the city is just streets and buildings. To paramedics, it's anatomy. Intersections are pressure points. Alleys are arteries. Every block is a potential emergency waiting to bleed out. Sirens are more than noise, they're the city's pulse. Sometimes steady, sometimes frantic. Paramedics hear that rhythm every day until it becomes a second heartbeat.
Nathan's eyes drifted over familiar streets, the ones he knew too well. You can't work EMS (Emergency Medical Services) in a place like this without memorizing where life ends and starts over and over again.
The hospital's glass walls caught the morning light as Nathan pulled into the ambulance bay. He killed the engine and climbed out, already reaching for his bag.
"Cole!"
His partner leaned against the rig, coffee in hand, a grin too big for early hours.
"Morning, sunshine. You look like someone ran you over."
"Long night," Nathan muttered.
"Buddy, every night's a long night. Let's go, dispatch is already buzzing."
Paramedic crews work in pairs for a reason. You trust your partner with your life and everyone else's. Working these calls wasn't about bravado, it was about trust. You needed to know the person next to you wouldn't crack when things went bad.
The radio crackled as they climbed into the ambulance.
"Unit 3, possible overdose. Unresponsive male. Caller reports shallow breathing. Address: 42 Pine, Apartment B."
His partner's hand flicked the siren switch. "Unit 3 en route."
Overdoses kill fast. When the body stops breathing, brain cells start dying within minutes. Paramedics fight the clock every single time.
42 Pine was a worn-down brick building with faded paint and mailboxes lined up by the door. The caller met them halfway up the stairs, panic in his eyes.
"He just...he stopped breathing..."
Nathan was already moving. A mid-20s male, slumped against a couch with pale skin and lips with a faint blue tint.
"Pulse?" Nathan asked, kneeling.
"Got one. Weak," his partner answered.
Nathan tilted the man's head back. Shallow breaths, barely there.
"Pupils are pinpoints."
That's the tell. Pinpoint pupils mean opioids—heroin, fentanyl, oxy. The drug locks onto the brain's receptors and shuts the body down. The fix is Narcan, a medication that kicks the opioid off those receptors and gives the body a second chance to breathe.
"Narcan. Two milligrams intranasal," Nathan said.
His partner popped the cap, slid the atomizer in, and pushed the plunger.
"Bag him," Nathan added. Mask sealed, squeezing air into the lungs. The man's chest rose and fell again.
There's nothing cinematic about it. No dramatic music. Just a clock ticking in the back of your head and the weight of someone's life under your hands.
Thirty seconds. A minute. The man jerked, coughing, dragging in a ragged breath.
Nathan let out a slow exhale. "Welcome back."
His partner grinned down at the man. "Hope you enjoyed the preview of the afterlife, buddy."
Nathan smiled. Saving someone never stopped feeling like a relief, especially knowing it didn't always go this smooth.
Calls blurred into each other as the day went on. Minor crash. Chest pain. The constant hum of a city that never stops breaking.
A quick glimpse of Claire in the pediatric wing: her hand on Lily's shoulder, guiding her into a room. Lily spotted him and waved, a thin smile on her face.
One more reason to survive tonight.
His partner caught the look and elbowed him. "She's cute. You're predictable."
"She's my girlfriend."
"Explains the puppy eyes. Man, you're hopeless."
By the end of the shift, Nathan was exhausted. He grabbed groceries on the way home, the bright store lights reminding him of what he had planned for the night.
Dinner was quiet and warm. Lily talked, and Claire smiled that tired smile that still managed to be soft. Nathan tried to soak it all in, then glanced at Claire. "Thanks for keeping us together," he said softly, low enough Lily wouldn't hear.
"Claire smiled back at him. "Always."
After dinner, he kissed Lily goodnight and told Claire he had to take care of something.
"Be safe," she said.
She didn't ask any questions. She thought it was another off-the-books medic job.
The night felt heavier when he stepped outside.
Marco was waiting in a dim garage, leaning on a rusted car. He slid a folder across the hood. "You wanted in, Cole. After tonight, there's no out."