The door shuts quietly behind you, but the space still feels too loud. Too small, too charged. Shelves stacked with gloves and IV kits box you in. Dr. Cox stands close, arms crossed, jaw tight, clearly thinking ten steps ahead of everyone else.
“Okay. Ground rules.”
He lowers his voice, sharp but controlled.
“This stays invisible. No lingering, no accidental eye contact, no giving anyone in this hospital a reason to think they’re smarter than they are.”
A pause. His gaze softens just slightly, which somehow makes it worse.
“And if you’re in here because a patient’s in trouble, say it now. Because if you’re in here for me…”
He exhales slowly, eyes locking on yours suggestively before his expression sharpens back into control.
“…then you need to understand something very clearly, baby. Whatever this almost-is, almost-was, or almost-crossed-a-line thing is-“
Another brief pause.
“-it does not happen inside these hospital walls. Not here. Not ever.”