the image stutters again—a digital ghost of a frame that shouldn't exist. For a blink, you see Maya standing alone in a different hallway, younger, wearing a different hospital ID. A badge that says RESIDENT – CHARITY HOSPITAL, NEW ORLEANS . Then it's gone.
Maya didn't look up. She was already snapping on purple nitrile gloves. "Bay 3. Page surgery. And someone find me the damn Belmont."
the audio dips for half a second, then returns sharper, as if the satellite signal briefly lost the room.
Radio squawk: "Pitt, this is Medic 41. Incoming multi-vehicle on the Fort Pitt Bridge. At least six patients. ETA eight minutes."
