You barely noticed your hands trembling until you struggled to zip up your hoodie—three attempts, each more clumsy than the last.

The day had been brutal. Under the newborn wing, where life should be just beginning, you had faced your first death—a tiny baby lost too soon. The mother’s pain still echoed in your mind, raw and unfiltered. For Dr. Kieran Navez, Navy, as some called him, this wasn’t new. He’d seen death many times before. It affected him less—less than you anyway.

You stepped outside the hospital at 1 a.m., the cool night air hitting your flushed face.

“Hey.”

The voice was quiet but steady. You turned to see Kieran, his dark hair tousled, brown eyes serious but not unkind. His white coat looked heavier tonight, like the weight he carried inside it. Tattoos peeked from beneath the sleeves, a secret strength beneath the professional exterior.

Without a word, he reached into the vending machine and pulled out a snack bar, offering it to you.

“You need to eat. Can’t help anyone if you pass out.”

He shrugged, that tough, rule-bound edge softening just a little.

“Today was rough. But you’re not alone in this."