The grey Sedan slipped along the outer lanes of I‑90, its headlights carving through the late‑afternoon haze settling over the outskirts of Cleveland. The highway was wide‑open at this hour, a clean run from the quiet suburbs to the city's towering hospitals by the lake. A gentle breeze poured through the open windows, whipping Jessica Gray's scrubs against her skin as she drove. The air carried a strange metallic scent, a chill running down her spine despite it being a warm, hot afternoon. She tightened her grip on the wheel.
Jessica checked her watch again.
Shit.
Her night shift was starting in less than twenty minutes. She pressed her foot down, then stopped abruptly.
Up ahead, the highway lights flickered over a line of brake lights stretching across all lanes.
That wasn't normal.
Traffic never built up here this quickly, not on the outskirts, not in this eerie quiet. Jessica eased off the accelerator, letting the Mark X roll to a slower crawl. A ripple of unease crawled up her spine as she watched the vehicles ahead inch forward, one by one, like they were being swallowed by something she couldn't yet see.
She cracked her window a little wider and listened.
Nothing but wind.
And somewhere in the distance…
screams.
Female screams.
A heart‑wrenching cry cut through the air, sharp enough to split bone.
She knew that sound. She had heard it thousands of times over the past five years. With a sudden stop, she threw her door open and began heading toward the screams.
"Make way, please!"
Another scream echoed. She almost broke into a run as people parted around her, slowly revealing a small red car parked at the far end of the road, the driver's door wide open. Inside, a woman lay sprawled on the seat, legs wide apart, visibly in excruciating pain.
She was heavily pregnant.
Jessica's nurse instincts kicked in instantly. She pushed the driver's door further open and bent over the seat, sliding half her body inside. One knee pressed into the upholstery as she shoved the seatback as far as it would go, forcing it almost flat. The woman let out a shaky breath as Jessica guided her down until she was nearly on her back.
The floor mats were slick.
So was the seat.
Jessica's stomach tightened. Amniotic fluid.
She's already leaking… damn it.
Working quickly, she adjusted the woman's hips and shoulders, lifting, nudging, repositioning until she lay at a slightly more comfortable angle—anything to ease the pressure.
"Hey," Jessica said firmly. "I'm a midwife from Lakeside Women's Hospital, and I'm going to help you. You're safe with me, alright?"
The woman nodded slightly, her lips tightening into a hard line.
"The baby… it's here…"
Her breathing had turned shallow, frightened. Jessica stiffened. She needed to act now.
"I need to check how far along you are, alright?"
The woman nodded weakly, gripping the seatbelt like a lifeline.
Jessica stepped back to straighten up, mind racing. Her kit was in her own car. She needed it—fast. But as she turned, her shoulder struck something solid.
For a split second, she thought it was another bystander—the same useless cluster who had been recording instead of helping. The memory of their blank stares sent a curse under her breath.
She spun around—and hit a solid wall of muscle.
A man.
Tall, broad‑shouldered, unmoving.
A scent—sharp cedarwood—cut through the air between them.
She froze.
He didn't flinch. Didn't shift an inch. He stood like a monolith carved out of silence. Jessica felt her pulse slam, then stagger into a wary rhythm as her gaze crept up to meet his. Something primal twisted inside her—a volatile braid of rage, fear, and something she refused to name.
Why was he just standing there?
As if this wasn't an emergency.
As if a woman wasn't writhing in pain feet away.
As if Jessica wasn't elbow‑deep in chaos doing the work no one else stepped forward to do.
His stare sliced through her—cold, assessing.
A sudden shudder from inside the car jolted her back.
"Move," she snapped, voice edged with gravel.
At last, he shifted. He leaned forward, peering into the car's interior as if only just registering the laboring woman. His pupils narrowed, something clinical and calculating flickering in them. Then he stepped aside with sharp precision.
"Blake," he said flatly. "Doctor Blake. Do you have gloves on you? How far is she dilated?"
Jessica blinked, startled back into motion.
"I—I haven't checked yet. The kit is in my car."
"Go," he instructed.
Jessica ran across the road, grabbed her kit, and returned. Blake was already in the backseat, holding the woman's head steady as she whispered something inaudible, clutching at the seat until her knuckles turned white.
"Her name is Thalia," Blake said without looking up. "She can feel the baby's head. She can't wait for a hospital. We deliver here."
Jessica shoved on her gloves, positioning herself to block the view from onlookers. She pulled down the woman's jeans—then gasped.
"Blake… She's fully dilated. The baby is coming!"