He had followed instructions.
And Ryan had trusted only one place in the world.
Her.
Lauren folded the note with trembling fingers and slipped it into her scrub pocket before anyone else could read it. The silver necklace—Ryan’s old guitar pick pendant—felt heavier than metal should. He’d worn it since high school. He never took it off.
Which meant he had expected not to need it anymore.
“Core temp’s coming up slowly,” Brandon said from the warmer. “Ninety-three point one.”
The toddler gave a thin, fragile cry—barely there, but stronger than before. Lauren forced her focus back into clinical rhythm. Airway stable. Oxygen saturation climbing. Heart rate fast but present.
Alive.
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