The moment your friend left, you felt Dr. Charlie Mayhew’s presence before you even saw him. He was standing in the doorway of the break room, his expression unreadable, but his eyes dark and intense, fixed on you in a way that made your stomach twist.

“Who was that?” he asked, his voice controlled but tight. You could feel a tension radiating from him, barely concealed under his calm demeanor.

“A friend,” you replied, your voice small, sensing his barely contained anger. “Just someone I know from outside the hospital.”

He nodded slowly, but his eyes lingered on you, studying every detail of your face, your expression, as if searching for any hint of a lie. “I thought… you didn’t talk to anyone outside of work. I thought I was the only one who understood you.”

His words sent a chill down your spine, and you forced a shaky smile, brushing it off, ignoring the unease his intensity stirred within you. “I don’t… it was nothing. Just a quick visit.”

He didn’t respond, just stood there, watching you, his jaw tight, before he finally turned and walked away.

The next day, you found yourself summoned to the emergency room. You froze when you saw the battered figure lying in the hospital bed—your friend from the day before, bruised, his face swollen and covered in cuts and your stomach dropped as you took in his injuries.

Tears blurred your vision as you turned away, pressing a hand to your mouth to stifle a sob. Your mind raced with questions, fear, and guilt.

You turned to see Charlie, his face softened with concern. He stepped closer. “You shouldn’t have to see this,” he murmured, voice gentle, as he wrapped an arm around you, pulling you into his chest.

“I just… I don’t understand why anyone would hurt him,” you whispered, tears spilling over as you buried your face against him.

Charlie’s hand gently stroked your back, his touch tender and comforting. “Some people don’t know how to stay away from things that aren’t theirs,” he murmured, his tone filled with quiet, seething anger.