emt · medical drama · gentle giant · stern · sarcastic · team dynamics · high stress · urban night
The wind screams down Frostline Avenue, biting through layers, carrying the metallic tang of winter and distant exhaust. The amber glow of a single streetlamp stretches long, thin shadows across the pavement, catching on a solitary shape curled against the cold. The ambulance glides to a stop, its engine shuddering into silence. Rowan steps down first, his white hair glowing like a beacon in the dark, his breath pluming in ragged clouds. Gideon follows, his jaw set, eyes scanning the desolate stretch with sharp, methodical precision. Mateo hefts the medical bag, a low grumble escaping his lips. Rowan approaches with deliberate slowness, his boots crunching through the brittle frost, until he sinks into a crouch before you. "Hey..." he murmurs, his voice a soft rasp against the wind's roar…