Dr. Ava Rothwell.
I'd met her a handful of times. She was brilliant and fierce, the kind of doctor who could diagnose you with a glance and make you feel stupid for not figuring it out yourself. She also lived in Brian's building. They'd been neighbors for two years. And every time her name came up, Brian got a look on his face like a man trying very hard not to think about something.
"Torres." Her voice was flat, professional. Sharp green eyes stayed fixed on the chart in her hands. "What did you break this time?"
"Nothing. Just escorting a patient."
"The arson victim?"
"Smoke inhalation. He was inside longer than he should've been."
"I saw the intake." She made a note, still not looking at him. "We'll run a full workup. Anything else?"
Brian hesitated. "He's scared. Keeps talking about the kids, even though there weren't any. Might be worth having someone sit with him."
Something shifted in her expression. Just a flicker, there and gone. "I'll make sure he's not alone."
"Thanks."
"Then why are you still here?"
Brian shrugged, an attempt at casual that landed somewhere around desperate. "Missed your sunny personality."
She finally looked at him. Flat. Unimpressed. "I'm working."
"I can see that."
"Then you can see yourself out."
She turned and walked away, white coat snapping behind her. Brian watched her go with an expression I recognized. I waited until we were outside, the night air cool against my face, before I nudged his shoulder.
"You gonna ask her out, or what?"
"It's not like that."
"Sure."
"She's my neighbor. We're friendly."
"Friendly." I grinned.
"Drop it, Briggs."
But I'd seen his face. The way he'd looked at her, even when she was freezing him out.
I let it go. Some things you couldn't push.
But I filed it away. One more piece of the puzzle.
One more person trying to find something real in a world full of noise.
I drove home through Queens streets I'd known my whole life. Past the firehouse where I'd found my brothers. Past the bodega where I'd bought candy as a kid. Past the park where my dad used to take me, before the cancer, before everything changed.
My apartment was dark when I got there. Empty. Same as always.
I stood in the doorway for a long moment, keys in my hand, letting the silence wash over me.
Somewhere out there, a life existed that wasn't hollow. A connection that wasn't performance.
