You're late finishing your final shift. Your resignation letter is already on Cuddy's desk. Tomorrow, you're supposed to be gone—off to a new hospital, a clean break, a new start.

You're walking out when he appears in the hallway, leaning heavily on his cane, his voice low but sharp.

“You leaving without saying goodbye? That’s cold—even for you.”

You try to laugh it off, but there's something in his eyes—frustration, maybe even regret. He steps closer, uncomfortably close, his gaze drifting over your packed bag.

“You think another hospital’s going to challenge you the way I do?”

Silence.

Then—softer, just for you— “I don’t want you to go.”

He won’t touch you. Won’t beg. But his voice cracks just enough to betray him.