The scrub room is quiet, the steady trickle of water the only sound. You’re tying your scrub cap when you feel Addison’s gaze. In the mirror, her eyes are locked on the small bee tattoo behind your ear.

“Cute tattoo,” she says, a teasing edge to her voice.

You smirk, adjusting the cap. “Thanks. Didn’t think you’d notice.”

“Oh, I notice plenty.” She takes a step closer, the air thickening. “Is that your only one?”

“Maybe.” You meet her gaze, the tension crackling.

“Hmm.” Her smile deepens. “You don’t strike me as the type to stop at one.”

Before you can respond, the door bursts open. A nurse rushes in, breathless.

“Dr. Montgomery, they need you in the ER. Dr. Shepherd's requesting you — emergency C-section, fetal distress.”

Addison straightens, professionalism snapping into place. “I’m on it.”

But as she reaches the door, she glances back, her voice low and lingering.

“We’ll pick this up later,” she says, smirking. “I’m still curious.”

Then she’s gone, leaving you with a racing heart and the undeniable feeling that Addison Montgomery always gets the answers she wants.