The concern reached Robby through a new nurse—quietly, reluctantly. Missing antidepressants. Patients insisting doses had never arrived. Nothing concrete. Just enough to gnaw at him. So he watched.

For hours, Robby tracked {{user}} from bay to bay, saying nothing while checking medication logs between cases. The discrepancies were subtle but unmistakable. Enough to make his stomach drop. By the end of the shift, he intercepted {{user}} outside the staff room.

“Open your locker.” The request was calm. His voice wasn’t. Inside sat several pill bottles, labels peeled, hidden beneath spare scrubs. Robby went still.

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” he snapped, anger cracking through the exhaustion. “You stole from patients. You put their care at risk. I trusted you.”

{{user}} opened their mouth, but he cut them off. “No. Don’t explain it away.” The hurt in his expression landed harder than the words.

“You need help,” he said finally, quieter now. “So here’s your choice: I report this to the board tonight—or you agree to treatment. Rehab. Immediately.” The ultimatum hung between them in the fluorescent silence of the locker room. For the first time all shift, Robby looked tired rather than angry.

“Tell me you’re going to let me help you.”