"We need to keep a team here overnight," the Riverside chief surgeon said, approaching us in the hallway. "In case post-op complications arise. Can Obsidian spare anyone?"
Patel had anticipated this. She'd called an hour ago with instructions.
"Reed and Karras will stay," I told him. "Everyone else returns to Obsidian."
The van left with Mireya and the residents. Calla and I stood in the ambulance bay, watching the taillights disappear into the night.
"Guess it's just us," I said.
"Guess so."
Silence settled between us. We'd just spent six hours working together like we'd never been apart, our bodies remembering rhythms our minds had tried to forget. But now, alone, all the professional distance came rushing back.
"I'll check on the post-op patients," Calla said finally. "You should eat something."
"You should eat something."
"I'm not hungry."
"Neither am I. But we should anyway."
We found the cafeteria on the second floor. Mostly empty at this hour, serving warmed-over sandwiches and coffee that was marginally better than what Mireya had brought. We sat at a table near the windows, the night pressing dark against the glass.
For a while, we just ate. The silence wasn't uncomfortable, exactly. Just heavy with everything we weren't saying.
"You were good today," I said eventually. "With the patients. With the residents. They needed someone calm, and you gave them that."
"So were you."
"We make a good team."
"In emergencies, apparently." The corner of her mouth twitched. Almost a smile. "When we're too busy to overthink."
I was about to respond when movement caught my eye.
Near the cafeteria entrance, a young mother sat in a wheelchair, holding a newborn wrapped in a hospital blanket.The woman looked exhausted but radiant, that particular glow of someone who'd just brought new life into the world. A nurse stood beside her, checking paperwork before discharge. The baby made a small sound, and the mother smiled down at it with a tenderness that seemed to light up the whole room.
I glanced at Calla.
And froze.
Her face had gone white. Her hands had stilled on her sandwich, forgotten. She was staring at the mother and baby with an expression I'd never seen on her before. Raw. Devastated. Like she was watching something being torn away from her.
Her eyes glistened in the fluorescent light.
"Calla?" I said quietly.
She blinked, seeming to snap back into herself. She looked away from the mother and child, wiping at her eyes with quick, angry movements.
"I'm fine."
"You're not. What's wrong?"
"Nothing. It's nothing."
"Calla." I reached across the table, my hand hovering near hers without quite touching. "Talk to me."
"I said it's nothing." Her voice came out sharp, defensive. She stood abruptly, grabbing her coffee cup. "I need some air."
