Minutes dragged into an hour. Rain hammered the windows; thunder rolled in retreat. Noemi sat hunched, tar drying in stiff flakes on her sleeves. Twice she heard the heart monitor flatline for a chilling second before it resumed its weak blip‑blip.
At one point a tech stepped away and whispered to Alvarez, “We’re losing him.” The vet pressed two fingers along the pup’s ribs, shook his head. “Not yet,” he murmured, and began rhythmic compressions with a finger and thumb, impossibly careful.