“Warn…mrr…lin…,” he rasped, consonants slurring together. The rest dissolved into a dry rattle, more air than language. Helen frowned, wondering if he was trying to form words or simply forcing his throat to work again. Whatever he meant, it slipped away before she could catch it.
Helen adjusted the oxygen line. “You’re safe,” she said automatically, but even as the phrase left her, it felt thin. The man’s eyes darted toward the ceiling, unfocused yet searching. He inhaled sharply, like someone bracing for an impact no one else could see.