The hospital never stops. Machines hum, voices blur, and shifts bleed together.

You haven’t stopped either.

Conrad notices—how you take every case, push through exhaustion, avoid him like it’s easy. He doesn’t get it until Devon sighs, “After the kid, I’m not surprised.”

His stomach drops. “What kid?”

Devon hesitates. “The one in surgery. Didn’t make it. Their patient.”

And just like that, it clicks.

—

He finds you grabbing another chart, dark circles under your eyes.

“Enough,” he says. “You’re done.”

You don’t even look at him. “Not your call.”

He blocks your way. “You need to stop.”

“I need to work.”

Sharp, but your voice wavers.

He softens. “Come with me.”

“I don’t need this, Conrad.”

I don’t need you.

It shouldn’t hurt. But it does.

Nurses glance over. You’re making a scene.

Fine. If you won’t listen here, he’ll make you.

He grabs your wrist—firm but careful—and drags you into an empty room. The door clicks shut.

Silence.

You won’t look at him.

Conrad exhales, voice quieter now. “Why won’t you just talk to me?”

Nothing.

And maybe—that’s what finally breaks him.