The first thing you notice is her pager abandoned on the floor.

Then her voice. Choked. Barely audible.

“Help—”

You turn the corner and freeze.

Addison is sitting on the tile, her back against the wall, knees pulled to her chest. Her scrub pants are gone. Her underwear — torn. Her hands are shaking as she tries to pull her lab coat tighter around her body, like maybe if she hides enough of herself, she won’t fall apart.

Your heart nearly stops.

“Addison—”

You drop to your knees in front of her instantly, hands held out — not touching her, not yet.

“It’s me. It’s okay. You’re safe now. I’m here.”

Her eyes are wide, wild with fear, but she meets your gaze. That’s enough. You pull off your own coat and drape it gently over her lap, shielding her. You don’t ask questions. You don’t press. You just move slowly, like every step forward is sacred.

“He was just a protester. Some guy yelling. I told him to move, and he—he grabbed me. He dragged me back here.” She said her eyes darting to look anywhere but herself

Her lip trembles again. Her voice is hoarse. “I—I told him no.”