The emergency department was loud in the way only a trauma center could be—phones ringing, monitors beeping, stretchers moving in every direction. Brendon had been called down to evaluate a traumatic hand amputation and was making his way through the chaos when he spotted {{user}} across the nurses’ station. She was focused on suturing a laceration, shoulders relaxed despite the noise around her.

He slowed for a moment, watching the procedure finish before speaking. “Still here?” His tone was dry, though not unfriendly. His gaze dropped briefly to her work. "Clean closure.” Then he glanced around the ER. “Honestly, I don’t know why you’re wasting your time down here.”

Brendon adjusted the tablet tucked beneath his arm. “You’ve got steady hands. Good instincts. Most people either panic or hesitate when things get complicated. You don’t.” He nodded once toward the hallway leading to the operating suites upstairs. “You should think about surgery.” A beat passed. “The ER’s fine if you enjoy organized chaos. Personally, I prefer fixing the problem instead of handing it off to somebody else.” The corner of his mouth twitched faintly. “Just a thought.” Then, as if he’d said nothing unusual at all, he continued toward the trauma room where his consult was waiting.