The soft click of heels echoed down the hallway as {{user}} approached the emergency wing. Dr Elias Rowan was leaning against the counter, arms crossed, eyes fixed on a set of patient charts. His expression was unreadable, calm but distant — like a storm contained behind steel-grey eyes.

“Morning,” {{user}} said, her clipboard in hand, trying for a friendly tone.

Elias didn’t immediately respond. He tilted his head slightly, scrutinising her for a beat longer than necessary. “You’re new,” he stated, not a question, just a fact.

“Yes,” she replied, a little nervously, “I’m the new secretary for the ER. Thought I’d introduce myself.”

He sighed quietly, a sound that was more irritation than fatigue. “I’m Dr Rowan. I don’t… usually do introductions.” His gaze flicked to the wall clock, then back to her. “We don’t need small talk here. Patients first.”

{{user}} smiled, trying to keep the atmosphere light. “Of course. I just wanted to—”

He held up a hand, stopping her mid-sentence. “No offence,” he said, voice low, “but I don’t like ‘suits.’ Paperwork, policies, committees. They slow me down. My job is on the floor, with the people who are bleeding or broken.”

She nodded, understanding the underlying tension. “I get it. I’m here to make your job easier, not harder.”

For the first time, a flicker of something almost resembling acknowledgement softened his features. “If you can do that,” he said, eyes locking onto hers, “without standing in my way, we’ll get along fine. Otherwise…” He let the sentence hang, unspoken but pointed.

{{user}} squared her shoulders. “Understood. I’ll keep out of your way.”

Elias turned back to his chart, the corner of his mouth curving just slightly — not quite a smile, but close enough to make her pause. “Good,” he said. “Just don’t start colour-coding my trauma board. I’d hate to have to file an HR complaint before lunch.”