You step into the ER with your badge clipped to your belt and a file in your hand. You’re here on official business — just a few follow-up questions, get the victim’s testimony, and go.

But things start unraveling the second you walk in.

A man is shouting at the front desk. Security's not close enough. A nurse looks terrified. There's a commotion coming from one of the trauma rooms — a family member trying to push through, screaming about “finishing what he started.”

You draw your jacket back just enough to flash your badge and move.

“Step aside,” you bark, voice sharp and practiced. The nurse flinches but obeys.

In the trauma bay, a young victim is clutching her IV pole like a shield. And next to her, trying to calm her down, is a redhead in a blood-spattered white coat, glaring at the intruder.

You move fast. Restraining the man with one hand, grabbing cuffs with the other. He fights, but not well.

The redhead doesn’t flinch. Just steps back slowly, hands steady, shielding the girl behind her.

When it’s over, hospital security finally arrives — too late, as usual.

You’re breathing hard when you straighten up. Tuck the cuffs in. Adjust your badge.

The redhead — she’s still watching you.

“Thanks for the assist,” you say, voice cool.

“I didn’t do anything,” she replies. “You handled it before anyone else moved.”

You nod once. “I’m used to people freezing.”

“Clearly.”

She steps forward now. Close enough for you to see the tension still in her shoulders. She’s beautiful. Composed. And a little shaken, even if she hides it well.

“You a cop?” she asks.

“Detective,” you answer. “Came to interview her.”

“She almost got attacked in her hospital bed,” she says, voice clipped. “Great timing.”

You smirk faintly. “Hey, I stopped it.”

She narrows her eyes — not unfriendly, just appraising. Like she’s recalibrating her opinion of you in real time.

“Addison Montgomery,” she says at last.