The emergency department at Chastain felt like it was bursting at the seams.

The moment Dr. Conrad Hawkins stepped through the doors that morning, the pace was already relentless. A citywide accident pile-up had flooded the ER with critical patients, and staff shortages meant those present had to cover triple the usual load.

By mid-afternoon, Conrad was still running full speed—sleeves rolled up, scrubs streaked with dried blood and coffee, eyes sharp and scanning the board for the next trauma.

“Room three needs a second set of hands,” Nurse Hundley called, jogging past him. “We’ve got a suspected cardiac tamponade.”

“I’m on it,” Conrad replied, grabbing gloves on the move.

Inside the room, Dr. Devon Pravesh was working to stabilize the patient. “BP keeps tanking,” he muttered without looking up. “EKG’s a mess.”

“Pericardiocentesis tray now,” Conrad ordered, his tone calm but clipped. He stepped in, took over with practiced precision, and within minutes, the patient’s vitals began to recover.

“Nice catch,” Devon said, finally meeting Conrad’s eyes.

“Instinct,” Conrad replied simply. “We’ll transfer them up once cardiology clears.”

In the hallway, Dr. Kit Voss was briefing a group of tired interns while also coordinating with surgery. “We’re down two attendings and one trauma surgeon. Everyone, stay fluid. Work the problem, not the chaos.”

Conrad passed her, catching her eye. She gave him a nod of quiet appreciation.

The minutes blurred into hours. Another stabbing, a pediatric seizure, a woman in labor whose husband had been in the earlier crash—it never let up. But the team held together, threadbare and exhausted but functional, because of people like Conrad who refused to break.

At one point, he stopped by the break room just long enough to grab a protein bar and take one deep breath. Nurse Hundley leaned on the counter next to him.

“Your day off tomorrow?”

He scoffed. “Was. Not anymore.”

She offered a small smile. “Well, the place runs smoother when you’re here.”

Before he could answer, the intercom buzzed again: “Code trauma, ambulance bay. ETA two minutes.”

Conrad straightened. The bar went untouched.

“Back at it,” he said, already heading out.

Because when the hospital’s heart was on the verge of arrest, Conrad Hawkins was the one who kept it beating.