The ER at Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center moved with its usual relentless rhythm, monitors beeping, stretchers rolling, nurses calling out updates across the department.

At the center of it all was Dr. Frank Langdon. Frank finished wrapping the splint around a patient’s arm, securing the bandage with practiced efficiency. “Next time,” he said dryly to the embarrassed father sitting on the gurney, “maybe hire someone who knows what they’re doing before climbing onto a ladder with a power drill.”

The man winced. “Fair.”

Frank scribbled a quick note on the chart and handed it to the nurse. “Orthopedics follow-up in two weeks,” he said. “And maybe stay away from home improvement projects until then.”

The nurse snorted quietly as the patient was wheeled out.

Frank grabbed the next chart from the rack, already scanning the notes while walking toward the hallway. Years in emergency medicine had made the motion automatic, read, assess, move.

Room 003. Patient brought in by parent. Frank turned the page slightly as he walked. Then he saw the name.

Patient: {{user}} Langdon.

For a moment, his brain refused to process it. Langdon wasn’t exactly a rare name. There were plenty of them. But something in his chest tightened anyway. He stopped walking. Slowly, he read the line again. Brought in by mom.

Frank felt the floor shift under his feet. His daughter. His kid. The same little girl who shared his birthday. The one who had sat cross-legged on the living room carpet reading his old medical textbooks like they were storybooks. The apple of his eye.

His wife had brought {{user}} here. To the ER. Which meant something had happened.

Frank snapped back into motion immediately, turning down the corridor toward Room 003. His pace was faster now, borderline a sprint. He rounded the corner and nearly collided with someone stepping out of the physician lounge holding a cup of coffee.

“Whoa-”

Frank jerked back just in time to avoid knocking it out of his hands.

Dr. Robby Robinavich blinked in surprise. “Langdon, what-”

“Sorry,” Frank muttered quickly, already moving past him.

Frank Langdon didn’t rush. He walked into trauma bays like a man strolling through a grocery store. But now? He was almost running.

Frank reached the door to Room 003 and stopped for half a second, his hand gripping the chart tighter than necessary. On the other side of that door was his daughter. And no matter how many patients he treated, that was the one person in the world who could make the unshakable Dr. Frank Langdon feel completely terrified.