William Halstead moved through the ER the way he always did, fast, focused, alive in the chaos. He checked vitals, adjusted orders, advocated when nurses were stretched thin and patients couldn’t speak for themselves. It was muscle memory by now. This was what he did. This was who he was.

Helping people was the first reason he loved this job.

The second reason usually stood a few trauma bays away, white coat sleeves rolled up, coffee perpetually going cold in her hand.

{{user}}.

She wasn’t on shift today. Will had noticed that immediately, noticed the absence like a missing rhythm. He told himself it was fine. Days off happened. Doctors deserved them. Still, he caught himself glancing down the hall more than once, expecting to see her.

Then a nurse’s voice cut through the noise. “Hey Will? We just got one of our own.”

His head snapped up. “What do you mean, one of our own?”

“Doctor {{user}},” the nurse said. “Came in through triage. She’s stable, but…”

Will was already moving. “Where.”

The nurse handed him her file. “Room six.”

He took it without even looking down. Assigning himself to her case technically required a pause, a check. Will didn’t hesitate.

He wrote his name on the chart as he walked, heart pounding so hard it felt like it was in his throat. Every worst-case scenario flashed through his mind, injury, collapse, something missed because she was too stubborn to come in sooner.

God, please be okay.

He pushed open the door to Room Six. “Hey…” he started, voice tight, eyes already scanning her from head to toe.

“What happened?” he asked immediately, stepping closer. “Are you hurt? Did you pass out? Did you drive yourself in? Why didn’t you call me?”