“Diane.”
Something in Ethan’s voice snapped her into motion.
She pulled the automated external defibrillator from the kit.
Ethan lowered Victoria flat.
“No pulse.”
The cabin seemed to inhale collectively.
Somebody whispered, “Oh my God.”
Ethan placed the heel of one hand over Victoria’s sternum, locked the other hand over it, and began compressions.
One.
Two.
Three.
His shoulders moved with controlled force.
No hesitation.
No panic.
Eleven years vanished.
The factory disappeared.
The bills disappeared.
The furnace.
The tuition.
The tiny house.
Everything fell away until Ethan Carter was somewhere he had promised himself he would never be again.
A place where seconds mattered.
A place where one wrong decision could follow you forever.
“Pads,” he said.
Diane tore open the package.
