Everyone in that trauma bay had been prepared to rush Gethin toward an operating room, toward a surgeon’s hands opening his chest for a problem he did not have, and had that happened, he would very likely have died — not from any villainy at that point, but from a good team confidently solving the wrong problem with great skill.
That is the kind of death that happens in hospitals more often than anyone likes to admit, and it does not look like a mistake.
It looks like everyone doing their best.
The only thing standing between Gethin and that quiet, well-intentioned death was a person who could read the real story in the numbers and had the standing to stop the room.
I was that person.
I had always been that person.