INT. GREY SLOAN MEMORIAL – CORRIDOR – DAY

The gurney turns the corner and disappears from view.

Link stops in the middle of the corridor.
Around him, the hospital keeps moving.
A nurse rushes past.
Shoes squeak against the floor.

Life continues at a pace he can’t follow.

Link rubs a hand over his face, slow, deliberate — trying to breathe.

He takes a few unsteady steps in a small circle — like movement might help — but it doesn’t.

He presses his palms to his thighs, bends forward, then sinks down against the wall.

Crouched.
Head bowed.
Breathing shallow, uneven.

He looks stunned, like he’s just been punched.

He drags a hand down his face, presses his fingers into his eyes, trying to ground himself.

Bailey comes fast down the corridor, headed toward Jo’s room.

She slows when she sees him.
One look is enough.

She stops in front of him.

BAILEY
(steady, low)
Lincoln.

Link looks up. His eyes are red already — not crying yet, just raw.

BAILEY (CONT’D)
(clearly concerned, holding it together)
What happened?

LINK
(words spilling out)
Her EF dropped.
They took her to the cath lab.
They’re placing a pump.

Bailey absorbs it. Straightens — grounding herself so he doesn’t have to.

BAILEY
(steadying herself)
 Okay.
 Okay.

She places a hand on his shoulder — firm, anchoring.

BAILEY (CONT’D)
They know what they’re doing.

Link shakes his head slightly, like the words can’t find a place to land.

A beat.

LINK
(helpless, honest)
I don’t know what to do.

Quiet. Honest. Raw. 

Bailey doesn’t contradict him.
She glances around — the corridor, the chaos, the movement — then back to him.

BAILEY
Then I’ll tell you what we’re going to do.

A beat.

BAILEY (CONT’D)
(calm, grounding)
 We’re going to go somewhere they know where to find you.
 And we’re going to wait there.

LINK
I can’t leave here.

BAILEY
Right now, you’re not the doctor.

She offers her hand, helping him stand.

She doesn’t ask.
She redirects.

Link hesitates — totally disoriented — then nods.

Bailey guides him down the corridor, steady at his side, as he carries a weight so heavy he can barely walk.

FADE OUT.

INT. GREY SLOAN MEMORIAL – WAITING ROOM – MOMENTS LATER

The waiting room is too quiet.

Link hovers near a chair, doesn’t sit right away. His hands flex, restless.

His phone vibrates.
He freezes.
Looks down.

ON SCREEN: MOM
We’ve found Luna’s puppy.
It was under the couch. 

Another text:
Any updates? 
Scout and Luna want to FaceTime with Jo.
When can we call without bothering her?

The outside world pressing in at the worst possible moment.

Link stares at the message.

He can’t answer.

He locks the phone and leaves it unread.

LINK
(quiet, barely holding it together)
How will they know I’m here?

BAILEY
I’ll take care of it.

She’s already pulling out her phone.

BAILEY (CONT’D)
They’ll update you as soon as they can.

Link nods, but his breath catches.

LINK
(head down, raw)
I just feel so helpless.

Bailey looks at him — really looks.

BAILEY
There’s nothing else we can do right now.

A beat.

BAILEY (CONT’D)
Jo’s one of the toughest people I know.
And she’s with people who won’t stop fighting for her.
 
That’s when Link finally sits.

He drops into the chair, elbows on his knees, head falling into his hands.

He stops moving.

Bailey sits beside him — close enough to matter, far enough to let him breathe.

She doesn’t say anything else.
She just stays. 
For now.
While she can.

FADE OUT.