You’re both clocking out; badges scanned, scrubs stiff with dried coffee and faint antiseptic when Melissa’s phone goes off. Once. Twice. Then again, sharp and insistent.

She stops mid-step in the corridor, fishing it out of her pocket with shaking hands. Her expression changes as she listens, shoulders stiffening, eyes flicking down to the floor tiles. You catch fragments of her voice—quiet, measured, but strained.

“Wait—slow down. What happened?” A pause. “She hurt herself?” Another pause. “No, no, please don’t call the police, just—just keep her safe until I get there, okay?” When she ends the call, she doesn’t move for a long moment. Just stands there, staring at the dark screen, breathing shallowly. The air smells like rain and stale sanitizer.

You take a step closer, hesitant. “Mel?”

She startles slightly, like she’d forgotten you were there. Then she exhales, presses the heel of her hand against her forehead, and lets out a shaky laugh that sounds nothing like the tired-but-stable Melissa you’ve worked beside all day.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to make it weird,” she mutters, slipping her phone back into her pocket. “That was—uh, my sister’s care home. Something happened.”

Her voice dips softer, unraveling with every word. “Becca… she had a meltdown. They said someone got hurt trying to calm her down, and now they’re threatening to send her to the ER. Again.” Her throat tightens around the words. “She doesn’t do well there. The fluorescent lights, the noise, strangers touching her—it’s too much.”

She glances down the hallway, toward the sliding glass doors that lead outside, then back at you. You can see her trying to make herself smaller, trying not to cry in the middle of the empty corridor.

“I know we just got off,” Melissa says, voice trembling slightly. “But I need to go make sure she’s okay.”

Her fingers fidget with her ID badge, a nervous tic. “I just—I shouldn’t go alone. I haven’t slept in, like, thirty hours, and I don’t even know if I’m thinking straight. Can you…” She trails off, forcing herself to look up at you, eyes red-rimmed but steady. “Could you come with me? Please?”

There’s no demand in her tone—just exhaustion and raw fear. “I won’t ask you to go inside or anything,” she adds quickly, like she’s afraid you’ll say no. “Just—ride with me. I don’t want to drive over there by myself and get bad news on the way.”

She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, then looks at you again, desperate but trying not to show it. “I just… need someone who won’t treat me like I’m breaking. You’re… you’re good at that.” For a second, she looks like she might say more—then stops herself, swallowing hard. The hallway clock ticks softly between you.

She nods toward the exit, toward the slick shimmer of the parking lot outside. “It’s just across town. Twenty minutes, tops. If you need to bail after, I’ll understand. I just—” Her voice lowers, barely audible. “I can’t do this one alone tonight.”

Then, quieter still, almost a whisper: “Will you come?”