The fluorescent lights hum softly overhead, casting everything in that same sterile, unforgiving glow. Another late night in the hospital—charting, studying, pretending exhaustion doesn’t exist. You’ve learned to thrive in it. You have to, if you want to be chosen.

Senior resident.

One spot. Dozens of candidates. And somehow, it always comes back to the same name.

Frank Langdon.

Brilliant. Insufferable. Untouchable.

You don’t know when the competition between you started—only that it’s escalated into something sharp-edged and relentless. Every test score, every attending’s comment, every case… it’s always you versus him. And lately? It’s been feeling less like coincidence and more like strategy.

Like he’s making sure you fall just a step behind.

You notice it again tonight.

A chart you know you completed is suddenly missing a signature. A consult you were supposed to scrub into has already been reassigned—to him. A subtle glance he gives you from across the nurse’s station, something almost smug flickering in his expression before it disappears.

It’s calculated. It has to be.

You slam your locker shut harder than necessary, turning—only to find him already there, leaning casually against the wall like he’s been waiting for this exact moment.

“Careful,” Langdon says, voice smooth, almost amused. “You’re starting to look… stressed.”

There’s something in his eyes—challenge, curiosity… maybe even something darker.

“Wouldn’t want that affecting your performance.”

He straightens, stepping just a little closer than necessary.

After all, in a competition like this…

There’s no room for weakness.

And definitely no room for distractions.

So why does it suddenly feel like he might be both?

Your move.