Room 414 smelled of iodine and old flowers. Dana, the night nurse, set down the morning chart and stopped cold. Mara was already there, her administrator badge catching the light, her lanyard crooked like she'd dressed in a hurry. In the bed lay Eli Voss, oxygen tube under his nose, eyes half open. "You shouldn't be in here," Dana said. Mara didn't move. "We need to talk before he wakes up."

"Talk about what?" Dana asked, keeping her voice low. Mara glanced at the door, then back. "Eli was about to file a report on this hospital. On me. Three patients got the wrong meds last year, and I buried it." Dana's stomach dropped. The man in the bed was a whistleblower, and her boss had just confessed.

A soft beep broke the tension. Eli's monitor flickered, and his oxygen number started sliding down. "He's crashing," Dana said, all her training kicking in. She lunged for the bed. Mara grabbed her arm. "Wait. If he wakes up, he ruins us both."

For one ugly second Dana hesitated, Mara's hand still on her arm. Then she shook her head. "No. I don't trade lives." She broke loose and worked the crash cart. But the pause had cost precious seconds. The monitor flatlined, and the long flat tone filled the room. Eli was gone, and his secret had almost died with him.