The hospital was eerily quiet at 3 AM, the steady hum of machines and soft footsteps the only sounds breaking the silence. I was on my 17th hour, exhaustion creeping up on me despite my best efforts to push it away. The fluorescent lights above buzzed, casting a cold, sterile glow over the room. Another long, grueling shift was coming to an end, and I was just starting to feel the weight of it in my bones.

I glanced at the clock—3:05 AM. I should’ve been relieved by now, but I was still in the midst of rounds, trying to finish up what I could before I handed things off to the next team. The door creaked open, and I didn’t need to look up to know who it was.

He stepped inside without a sound, his presence as noticeable as ever. Nurse Turner. His uniform, perfectly pressed despite the late hour, fit his frame well, highlighting the lean strength of his build. He had a way of walking into a room—calm, collected, never rushed. His dark hair was a bit tousled from the overnight shift, but it didn’t look out of place. Everything about him, from the way he stood to how he held himself, was effortlessly composed.

“Doctor,” he greeted, his voice smooth, calm—almost too calm for someone just starting a shift.

I barely acknowledged him with a brief nod, my attention still focused on the charts. “You’re late,” I said, the words slipping out before I could stop them.

He didn’t flinch. Of course he didn’t. He had that kind of relaxed confidence that made him seem completely unfazed by anything. “I was finishing up with the last patient,” he said, his eyes scanning the board. “What needs attention?”

I sighed, pushing the exhaustion aside, and gestured toward the chart. “Room 305 needs monitoring for vitals. We’ve got a patient with a rising fever—just started, but we’re watching it closely. And 312’s still holding steady, but we’ll need to check those oxygen levels again in a few hours.”

He nodded, moving to the charts, his fingers gliding over the paper as he processed the information. He was sharp, no doubt about it.