Maceo answers and puts the call on speaker beside the emergency line. Quentin's voice comes through without greeting, breathless and hard with motion. "I saw the spike and heard the address over dispatch. I'm five minutes out, maybe less. Tell me if he's conscious."
"No," Luther says. "Breathing, but altered. Pulse irregular."
"Keep him flat. Luca, if you can hear me, keep your hand where it is and tell me if his breathing changes. Don't try to sit him up even if he comes around and argues. Luther, control your scent. Grayson, get air moving. Maceo, make sure the paramedics have the medication list and the latest monitor logs."
Everyone moves around Quentin's voice. Grayson stands long enough to open the conference room door wider and signal someone to move the decorative table out of the hall. Maceo's already pulling up files on his phone. Luther lowers his head for one second, breathing through whatever's tearing through him, then pulls his scent back until the air stops feeling so crowded.
I stay where I am.
Blake's breath hitches. His eyelids flutter. My hand presses harder to his chest, not enough to hurt him, just enough to feel the rise and fall because I can't trust my eyes through the tears.
"Blake," I say, leaning close. "Quentin's coming. The ambulance is coming. Luther's here. Grayson's here. Maceo's got the logs. You followed the rules, okay? You did. I know you did. You don't get to leave because your body's being stupid after you actually listened to us."
His mouth moves.
No sound comes out.
"Don't you dare," I tell him, and the words shake, but they hold. "Don't you dare make me tell Rosalie you broke a promise before her birthday. Don't you dare make me tell James you left a system unfinished. Don't you dare make Samuel ask why nobody's answering fast enough. Stay here, Blake. Stay with me."
Behind Grayson, a small cry breaks through the hallway.
Rosalie.
The sound punches straight through me. Grayson's hand leaves my back, and when I look up, his face has changed. The caretaker in him goes toward the children even while his body wants to stay with Blake. He turns just enough to see down the hall, and I see what he sees: Rosalie in the side room doorway with her crown clutched in both hands, tears running down her face; James standing beside her, silent and too still; Samuel half-hidden behind Maceo's leg, asking what happened again and again because no one's answered in a way his fear understands.
"They're safe," Maceo says, already moving to block their view more fully with his body. His voice softens when he speaks to them, but it doesn't lose its steadiness. "Blake's sick. The doctors are coming. You're staying with Grayson for one minute."
Samuel asks, "Did he fall?" and the question comes out small enough that Luther closes his eyes.
Grayson goes to them, not far, just enough to crouch in front of the doorway while still keeping Blake in sight. He draws Rosalie into one arm and puts his other hand on James's shoulder, watching James's blank face with a fear I can feel through the bond. "He fell, baby," Grayson says, voice low and careful. "Quentin's coming. We're helping him. I need you to stay right here with Maceo and me."
James doesn't ask anything. That scares Grayson more than Samuel's questions. I know because I feel the sudden hollow drop in him, the way his worry changes shape around James's silence.
Blake makes a sound under my hand.
I look down so fast my vision blurs. His eyes open partway, unfocused and dark with confusion. His lips are colorless. He looks at me without seeming to understand where we are, and then his brow tightens as if pain catches up all at once.
"Luca," he breathes.
"I'm here." I bend over him, tears falling onto his temple now, my voice breaking and steady at the same time because Quentin said to keep talking and Ember House taught me that steady doesn't mean dry-eyed. "I'm right here. You scared me. You scared all of us. Don't move."
His fingers twitch against the carpet. "Dorian."
"Gone," Luther says from the other side, voice low with a fury he's holding on a leash because Blake's awake enough to hear him. "You made him back off. The materials are preserved. You did it."
Blake's eyes shift toward Luther, then lose focus again.
"You did it," I repeat, because he needs to hear it from me too. "You protected me. You protected Ember House. Now you have to stay while everyone else protects you."
Quentin arrives before the ambulance.
I hear his shoes first, fast against the hall, then he's there with a medical bag in one hand and a face so focused it makes the rest of the hallway sharpen around him. He doesn't waste time on shock. He drops beside Blake, looks once at my hand on Blake's chest, and says, "Good, Luca. Keep talking to him unless I tell you to move."
I nod so hard I almost lose my balance.
Quentin checks Blake with quick, practiced hands. Stethoscope. Pulse. Pupils. Monitor. He asks Luther for the lunch dose time, and Luther answers immediately. He asks me about breakfast, sleep, pain, whether Blake complained of dizziness before the meeting. I answer through tears because I know these answers matter, and because every answer proves we were trying.
"He ate," I say. "Toast, fruit, half the smoothie. He slept after the call yesterday, and last night he slept with us. He took the pills. Luther watched the lunch one. I watched the morning one. We didn't let him skip them."
