INT. ICU ROOM — CONTINUOUS

Jo lies still now.
Lightly sedated. Breathing paced by the ventilator.

Link sits at her bedside, one hand wrapped around hers. Careful. 

He hasn’t moved.

Dr. Ndugu enters quietly, already scanning the monitors.
Vent settings. Vitals. Fentanyl rate. Impella console.

Then he looks at Link.

NDUGU
Heard she woke up.

Link nods.
Eyes still on Jo.

LINK
Just now.
(a beat)
She panicked.

He falters.

LINK (CONT'D)
The tube—

He stops himself.

His thumb presses lightly into Jo’s palm.
Grounding himself.

LINK (CONT’D)
We gave her a small fentanyl bolus.

There’s guilt in the way he says it.

Ndugu steps closer to the bed.
Checks her pupils. Watches her chest rise. The monitor.
Everything stable.

NDUGU
That was the right call.

Link exhales. It doesn’t ease him.

LINK
I can’t watch her go through that again.

Now he looks at Ndugu.
Raw.

LINK (CONT’D)
How long until we can take her off the vent?

That’s the question.
Not if.
When.

Ndugu doesn’t answer immediately.

He watches the monitor a moment longer.
He chooses his words carefully because he knows exactly who he’s talking to.

NDUGU
She arrested, Link.

Simple. Direct. 

He gestures toward the Impella. 

NDUGU (CONT’D)
Her heart’s still being supported.
(a beat)
She’s not strong enough to breathe safely on her own yet.

Link nods.
He knows this.
Hates it anyway.

NDUGU
Tomorrow we can try a spontaneous breathing trial.
See what she can manage.
(a beat)
If she tolerates it, we can talk about extubation.
 
Link looks back at Jo.
Too still.

LINK
And until then?

Ndugu follows his gaze.

NDUGU
We keep her light.

A glance at the sedation drip.

NDUGU (CONT’D)
Awake when we can.
Comfortable enough not to fight it.

LINK
She hates it.

NDUGU
Most people do.

A beat.

NDUGU (CONT’D)
But light sedation is safer than knocking her out.
Better odds we get that tube out sooner.

He meets Link’s eyes, knowing he understands every word.

NDUGU (CONT’D)
You’d make the same call.

That lands harder than reassurance.

Link nods once.

LINK
I know.

A pause.
 
NDUGU
She woke up twelve hours after surgery, Link.

That gets his attention.

NDUGU (CONT’D)
That’s something.

Small. But real. 

Link absorbs it. 
Doesn’t smile.
But steadies. 

LINK
Tomorrow.

NDUGU
One day at a time.

Ndugu leaves the room.

Link tightens his hold on Jo’s hand.
Stays.

LINK
(very soft)
I’m here.

Jo’s breathing remains steady, assisted. 

Her grip loosens slightly around his fingers.
A small shift.
Not deeper sedation.
Just exhaustion.

Link stays exactly where he is.
Watching her breathe.
Waiting.

FADE OUT.