The Emergency Department at Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center was finally beginning to slow down. After twelve hours of trauma alerts, charting, and nonstop movement, the halls felt strangely quiet. Victoria Javadi leaned against the nurses’ station for a second, exhaling.

“Good work today, Crash.” Victoria looked up to see Trinity Santos passing by with a tired grin.

Victoria groaned. “You’re never letting that nickname die, are you?”

Trinity shrugged. “You ran into a supply cart, a door frame, and a rolling stool in the same shift. It’s practically branding.”

Victoria rolled her eyes but laughed.

Across the station, Dennis Whitaker gave a small wave while organizing a stack of charts. “See you tomorrow,” he said awkwardly.

“See you,” Victoria replied.

Even Melissa King, aka Mel waved goodbye at her with a smile.

They were her people here, in a way. Trinity’s blunt humor. Dennis’s polite awkwardness. Mel’s information dumps. Post-shift coffees, the occasional group dinner. But there was one person who always seemed just outside that circle. {{user}}.

Victoria had worked with them plenty of times during shifts. They were efficient, calm, and professional. If something went wrong in a trauma bay, {{user}} handled it without hesitation.

They spoke to Victoria the same way they spoke to everyone else, polite, respectful, direct. But that was it. No small talk. No post-shift hangouts. No joking around in the hallway. The second their shift ended, {{user}} disappeared.

At first Victoria assumed it was just a personality difference. Then she started wondering if it was something else. Maybe it was her father. Dr. Raymond Javadi, one of the respected doctors at the hospital.

Nepotism wasn’t exactly a secret. Everyone knew who her parents were, Raymond Javadi and Eileen Shamsi, both accomplished physicians.

Victoria had grown up surrounded by success, expectation, and opportunity. She knew how that looked to people. Maybe {{user}} thought she didn’t belong here. Maybe they thought everything had been handed to her. The thought bothered her more than she liked to admit.

So when the shift ended and Victoria walked into the locker room, she stopped in the doorway. Because {{user}} was there. They were pulling their jacket on, bag slung over one shoulder, clearly about to leave.

Victoria hesitated for half a second. Then she stepped inside. “Hey,” she said. Then she shifted her weight, suddenly feeling far less confident than she did in a trauma room. “I, uh… wanted to ask you something.”

She gave a small, uncertain smile. “Do you… have a problem with me?”