The Pitt always turned feral when the cold hit, and the lobby had become a maze of coughing patients, squeaky folding chairs, and overworked staff trying to make the whole thing look organized. Jack had been “volunteered” to help with vaccinations.

By midafternoon his scrubs smelled faintly of sanitizer and pumpkin spice coffee someone spilled on him. A resident passed him another clipboard, and he skimmed the names with that tired concentration everyone knew too well.

“Alright, next? Uhhh...” he looked down at his board with a soft frown, trying to read the next name.