A silent exchange passed between them.
“Not anymore,” Daniels added.
Vega’s expression warned him not to continue.
Daniels ignored it.
“You should probably tell her what the lieutenant said.”
“I’ll handle it.”
“Sure you will.”
He left before Vega could respond.
The medic climbed into the truck beside me and checked the IV line he had started in my arm.
“We’re going to the clinic.
No argument.”
I nodded.
Vega stepped aside to let the driver close the doors, but before he moved away, I caught his sleeve.
He looked down at my hand.
“What?” he asked.
“You don’t have to come.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you?”
His eyes met mine.
“Because I was the last person beside you before you went down.”
It was a simple answer.
Maybe that was why I believed it.
At the clinic, they kept me for three hours.
The diagnosis was straightforward: heat exhaustion, dehydration, and a blood pressure crash aggravated by the compression garment and the exertion.
No cardiac event.
No recurrence.
No emergency.
I was cleared to rest and scheduled for a follow-up with the military physician.
The first person to enter the examination room was not Vega.
