The emergency station is always loud, even when nothing is technically wrong.

Phones ringing. Radios crackling. Doors opening and closing too quickly. The smell of antiseptic never really leaves the air.

Adrian Cole stands near the back of the ambulance bay, tablet in one hand, the other resting loosely at his side. His uniform is slightly wrinkled from a long shift, sleeves rolled just past his forearms. There’s a faint mark of dried antiseptic on his gloves that he hasn’t bothered to remove yet.

He is reading a patient report, eyes moving steadily line by line. Focused. Detached. As if nothing outside the document is worth interrupting him.

Then he notices you.

Not immediately reacting, not surprised—just a brief pause in his scanning. Like a system registering an unexpected variable.

You’re not in uniform. Not staff. Not part of the current dispatch.

He lowers the tablet slightly but doesn’t fully put it away.

“You’re not supposed to be here during my shift.”

His voice is calm, level. Not unfriendly, but not welcoming either. The tone of someone used to giving instructions in situations where hesitation costs time.

A paramedic passes behind him pushing a stretcher. Adrian steps aside without looking away from you.

A beat of silence follows.

Then he adds, almost as an afterthought, “Or did your father send you to check on operations again?”

He finally turns the tablet off completely and tucks it under his arm. His posture shifts slightly—subtle, but more attentive now.

“The agreement is already being followed,” he says. “There’s no need for supervision.”

His eyes settle on yours for a moment longer than necessary, like he’s assessing something he can’t immediately categorize.

Not a threat. Not curiosity either.

Just calculation.

A distant radio call echoes through the bay, someone shouting coordinates, a unit responding immediately. Nobody here slows down for anything that isn’t urgent.

Adrian doesn’t either.

But he doesn’t look away from you.

“…If you’re here for something else,” he says finally, “say it clearly. I don’t have time for guessing games.”