The Pitt’s ER was never quiet for long. Doctor Jack Abbot knew that better than anyone. Even after years in combat medicine and the relentless churn of trauma shifts, the chaos still had its rhythm, sirens outside, hurried footsteps, the clipped shouts of orders over the din. And like clockwork, some people waited longer than others.

Sometimes it was because a critical case rolled in and swallowed every spare second. Other times… it was less excusable, front desk staff missing a chart, ignoring a groan, or letting their own judgment cloud their triage. Jack hated that part. Tonight, though, something was off. There was a calm moment, a gap in the usual bedlam that didn’t feel earned.

Jack frowned, the metal joint in his prosthetic leg clicking softly as he walked. This wasn’t right. Beds open during a Thursday night shift in Pittsburgh? Not possible.

Without waiting for an explanation from the front desk, he headed toward the waiting room, where there was one patient waiting, and it seemed they had been waiting for a while.