The town had reached that soft, late hour where even the saloon lights gave up and went dark, but Harvey was still awake upstairs in the little apartment above his clinic. Fresh from a shower, his hair was still damp as he held the blow dryer in one hand while balancing his phone against his shoulder. His mother’s voice flowed warmly through the line—concerned, naturally, the way mothers always are when their son insists on living doctor-first and human-second in a quiet farming town hours away. Harvey moved about the room while she spoke, gently pulling his blinds closed one by one. “Yes, Mom, I promise I’m eating properly,” he said with patient amusement, voice softened by a fond smile. “And yes, I’m sleeping… eventually.” Their laughter came easy after that, small bursts of shared comfort drifting through the quiet apartment.

He settled into the chair at his desk, the warm hum of the dryer fading as tiredness finally began to creep into his shoulders. It had been a long day of sprained wrists, seasonal sniffles, and someone insisting that rubbing mayonnaise on a bee sting was medically endorsed. His mother, ever perceptive, must have heard the fatigue creeping into his voice. “I’ll stay on the call,” she said gently, “even if you fall asleep.” Harvey smiled at that, rubbing the back of his neck while his eyes drifted around the room—past the framed aviation posters, the model aircraft lined carefully along the shelf. Would it kill this town to have one exciting thing happen? he wondered sleepily. Something dramatic, heroic even. “Honestly,” he murmured with a quiet chuckle, “that’s probably a foolish wish.” His mother hummed warmly through the receiver. “Something will happen one day.” “No,” he replied, eyes half-closing. “Not here.”

Twenty seconds later, violent pounding erupted from the clinic door downstairs. Harvey jolted upright so fast his chair nearly tipped. “Whoa—okay—hold on, Mom,” he blurted, already halfway to the stairs. “Someone’s at the door—I’ll be right back.” The knocking continued in frantic bursts, and by the pattern alone he had a fairly strong guess. Alex, obviously. And likely Sam and Sebastian if the chaos quota was being met tonight. As he hurried down the steps, irritation crept into his voice. “Boys, I swear if this is another late-night sports injury—” he began, throwing open the door. Then he stopped. Alex stood there, breathless, supporting someone who clearly wasn’t from Pelican Town—you. Your weight sagged heavily against him, barely conscious, your condition immediately setting off every medical alarm in Harvey’s brain. Blood. Bruising. Exhaustion. Not a local face. Not a minor scrape. Harvey’s irritation vanished in an instant, replaced by sharp, focused calm. Ah, he thought grimly. That’s… not exactly what I meant.