Arizona had only looked away for ten seconds. That was it. Ten seconds to glance at a nurse’s chart, answer a question about a medication dosage, and by the time she turned back around—empty chair.

The toddler was gone.

A toddler who had come in after a car accident. Still covered in dust and road grit, hair mussed and little shoes scuffed. Arizona hadn’t even gotten a proper look yet. Just enough to clock a few bruises and a dazed expression while triage cleared the toddler’s guardian to trauma and assigned Arizona to the tiny one.

She had turned to a first-year intern—well-meaning, wide-eyed, and clearly overconfident—and said clearly, “Keep an eye on my patient. I’ll be right back.”

Apparently, right back had been too long.

“Where’s my patient?” Arizona asked, turning sharply, voice just sharp enough to make the intern pale.

“I—I think maybe—”

“No. Nope. Not happening. Uh uh,” She was already moving, her tone pure sunshine dipped in panic.

Because Arizona Robbins did not lose toddlers. She wasn’t that kind of doctor. She was the kind of doctor who found lost kids. Who fought for lost kids. Who didn’t blink in the face of a ten-car pileup but was now spiraling over a toddler-sized vanishing act.

Her sneakers squeaked across the linoleum as she threw open curtain after curtain. She glanced under chairs, behind equipment carts, even under a bench by the vending machines. Nurses offered sympathetic looks. One offered a helpful “Maybe Radiology?” and got a smile that was anything but thankful.

She called down the hallway like a mom in a department store, voice bright but absolutely not amused.

“Okay, tiny Houdini. You’ve got about thirty seconds before I start paging every single person in this hospital who owes me a favor.”

A flash of movement caught her eye just as she turned the corner. Bare feet. One tiny hand pressed to the wall for balance. Just walking, like it was the most normal thing in the world.

Arizona exhaled a sharp breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding and strode forward, dropping to her knees as she held out her arms.

“Oh my god, you cannot just go for a stroll,” she said, breathlessly. “I am too young and too blonde for a heart attack, okay? You scared the crap out of me. Do you even care about that, you little wandering cutie?”