His expression changed.
"How long?"
"Three hours."
Richard looked toward Douglas.
"Patients stable?"
"For now."
Richard's eyes moved toward the equipment room.
"You maintain systems on this floor," Simone said.
"I clean and repair whatever nobody else wants."
"You've worked here four years."
Richard looked at her.
"Where are you going with this?"
Simone stepped closer.
"I'm asking you to look."
Douglas overheard.
"Ms. Sinclair, with respect, my team..."
"I didn't ask him to replace your team."
Simone looked at Richard.
"I asked him to look."
Richard hesitated.
Then said, "Board seven."
Douglas frowned.
"What?"
"The failure pattern."
Richard stepped toward the display but did not touch anything.
"Third floor had something similar in 2022."
Douglas shook his head.
"Board seven shows partial active."
"I know."
Richard pointed.
"That's why your diagnostics keep skipping it."
Douglas stared.
Richard continued.
"It reads alive enough for software to call it stable."
He looked toward Douglas.
"But it isn't carrying the way it should."
Douglas's eyes narrowed.
He pulled up older maintenance records.
Richard waited.
Then Douglas's face changed.
"There was a third-floor event."
"October."
"October 19."
Richard nodded.
"I was there."
Douglas looked at him differently.
"You remember that?"
"I remember things that nearly get people hurt."
Richard joined the engineering team under Douglas's supervision.
He did not take over.
He did not perform some impossible cinematic repair by himself.
He pointed them toward the place everyone else's training had told them not to suspect.
Nine minutes later, the hidden failure was isolated.
A controlled repair was completed.
At 1:54 a.m., the backup system returned to full operational status.
One monitor stabilized.
Then the next.
Then the next.
Nobody spoke for several seconds.
Douglas stared at the panel.
Richard wiped his hands on a cloth.
Then somebody clapped.
Richard turned.
A nurse.
Then another engineer joined.
Then Preston.
Within seconds, the corridor filled with applause.
Richard looked uncomfortable.
The CFO, a man who had once told him during a facilities meeting to "stay in your lane," stood near the wall clapping with everyone else.
Richard picked up his screwdriver.
"You people are making this weird."
Someone laughed.
Richard's first question was, "Did anybody check the patients?"
A nurse nodded.
"All three are stable."
"Good."
He returned the screwdriver to his cart.
At the far end of the corridor, Sophia Sinclair watched everything.
She had returned to Boston two days earlier.
She had been sitting at her mother's bedside more often.
Their conversations remained difficult.
But they were conversations.
That itself was new.
Sophia had gone to the nurse's station for coffee when the crisis began.
She watched engineers work.
She watched Richard arrive.
She watched him help solve the problem.
Most importantly, she watched what he did after.
No triumph.