She snorts. “I’ll alert the press.”
I don’t answer. If I do, I’ll start listing numbers like ratios, missed breaks, and overtime hours that stopped meaning anything months ago.
Resus is quiet tonight. Suspiciously so. Nobody says it because we all know better.
Carole falls into step beside me as we walk. “You look tired.”
“Baseline,” I reply.
“Eighty-hour baseline or ‘forgot what day it is’ baseline?”
“Yes.”
She hums in agreement before she starts running through admissions without breaking stride. Chest pain turned reflux. Wrist fracture. Elderly fall, CT pending. She slides a chart toward me. I sign without stopping.
“And,” she adds, lowering her voice, “your yoga casualty is officially a desk favorite.”
That doesn’t surprise me. The department always softens toward people like Madison.
“Good evening,” a familiar voice says from behind me.
I turn and see Hudson leaning against the wall near the trauma bay with his arms crossed. He’s holding a hot coffee. Lucky bastard.
He watches me with that unreadable expression he’s perfected after too many years in psych.
“What are you doing down here?”
He shrugs and lifts his coffee. “Consult. One of my patients was brought in. Car accident. Nothing major, but protocol says I check in.”
Psychiatry and trauma don’t usually overlap in the same hallway, but when they do, it’s usually messy. Still, seeing him on this side of the building is rare.
Hudson glances at the board. “It seems quiet tonight.”
Four heads snap up instantly.
Three nurses—two at the desk and one walking past—immediately start swearing at him.
“Jesus Christ, Hudson.”
“Are youtryingto curse us?”
“Get out. You’re not allowed to be here anymore.”
Even Carole lets out a groan as she flips a page. “You’ve just jinxed the entire department.”
Hudson winces. “Shit. Ithoughtit. I wasn’t supposed tosayit.”
I don’t even look up from the chart in my hand. “You know better.”
He mutters something under his breath and sips his coffee like it’ll save him now.
It won’t.
We stand there for a moment, watching a porter wheel a trolley past.
“You going to take a break?” Hudson asks.
“No.”
