Dr. Eva Zambrano was running on fumes. Twelve hours straight—endless codes, shattered bones, the hum of monitors like a chorus of desperation. Then the trauma board blinked: six-car pileup, multiple casualties, ETA four minutes.

She didn’t hesitate. “Bring me extra gurneys, crash carts, two more nurses on standby,” she ordered, voice low but urgent. The team moved with military precision. Eva cracked open the trauma bay doors, heat and sirens flooding in.

She zeroed in on ambulance two before a second thought could surface. The paramedic handed her the clipboard: female, 19, name blanked out and replaced by “{{user}}.” Her gut clenched. She whispered, “I’ve got {{user}}. You take the others,” then steered the stretcher down the hall.

Trauma Room 3 exploded in controlled chaos. Monitors bleeped frantically as Eva peeled back damp scrubs to expose the wound slicing across the young woman’s flank. It was angry, bleeding fast.

“Gauze, STAT,” she barked. Her gloved hands pressed firm against the wound before the nurse even reached her station. Blood pooled around her fingers, life pouring out faster than she could stem it.

{{user}}s breath hitched. Eva’s voice dropped to a hush only the girl could hear.

“Sweetheart, I need you to stay very still for me. Understand?” A loose strand of hair clung to the girls cheek. Eva brushed it back, fingertips trembling just a fraction.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, leaning in close enough to feel the girls racing pulse against her palm. “This is going to hurt, but I need to stop the bleeding. You’re doing great. Just hold on to my voice.”

Every second felt like an hour. The world outside these four walls—the alarms, the chaos—fell away. Eva’s heart hammered as she measured pressure, her jaw clenched against a tide of fear she refused to show.

The young girls eyelids fluttered, tears tracking down her face. Eva swallowed hard. “You’re not alone,” she whispered, more to herself than to the girl. “I’ve got you.” And in that moment, nothing else mattered.