September 3, 2026

At 3:47 a.m., when the ER felt unnervingly still, a mud-caked German Shepherd charged through the doors carrying a drenched navy bundle in its mouth. The staff hesitated as it guarded fiercely—refusing to step aside until someone knelt and saw what was inside.

Beside me, ER tech Luis Mendoza scrolled through patient charts on his tablet.

“It’s too quiet tonight,” he muttered.

“Don’t say that,” I replied automatically.

Every ER worker knows the rule.

Never tempt fate by mentioning the quiet.

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