The irrational, unhelpful surge of heat and irritation arrived fully formed, unwelcome and sharp. I kept my voice level. “She’s prepared,” I said. “My residents don’t miss.”
Anya finally looked at me. Really looked, and her eyes brightened, just a fraction. “Is there anything else you want to add, Dr. Vaughn?” she asked, voice clipped. A challenge — awarning— wrapped in clinical courtesy.
I met her gaze. Held it. “Not unless you’re asking for permission,” I said.
A nurse coughed. Someone shifted. The monitors continued their indifferent chorus.
Anya’s smile deepened. Dangerous. Entirely restrained. “Not tonight,” she said. “But I appreciate knowing you’re paying attention.” The gurney rolled out moments later. The room deflated. Gloves came off. Noise softened.
I stood there longer than necessary, jaw tight, pulse finally catching up to me. I hated how easily she got under my skin, and hated more that she knew exactly when it happened.
And I hated — deeply, viscerally — that I wouldhappilylet it happen again.
The next trauma rolled in mere moments afterward, because that was how emergency departments worked. It was either flu and headaches stacked end to end, or it was catastrophe in clusters — back-to-back emergencies demanding more hands than existed,more certainty than anyone truly had. Tonight had chosen the latter.
Multi-vehicle collision. Chain reaction. Too many patients, not enough staff. The bay split itself in half on instinct alone, bodies and roles sorting themselves with practiced efficiency, adrenaline carrying us where thought could not. Noise rose and fell in waves — monitors screaming, voices cutting through, the wet, unmistakable sound of blood where it shouldn’t be.
Anya was brilliant in chaos. She always had been.
She pushed, the way she did when the room sharpened her instead of dulling her. She stepped closer than she should have, leaned across the gurney for a better angle on a bleeding femoral line, her body stretching into the space without asking permission. Too close. Too far over. Confident enough to forget that chaos bites.
“Anya,” I said, already moving.
“I’ve got it,” she replied, calm, focused, and then she smiled at me. Smiled. That wicked little tilt of her mouth she used when she knew she was testing the boundaries, when she wanted to see if I’d flinch.
She glanced up. Our eyes caught. A spark. Heat. A terrible, beautiful fraction of a second where the rest of the room fell away.
And she missed the patient’s sudden movement.
The gurney jerked hard. A panicked limb flailed. The needle slipped.
Blood sprayed.
“Shit—” someone shouted.
“BACK,” I barked, my voice cutting through the room like a blade. “NOW.”
The word landed heavily. Absolute.
Anya stumbled back as I lunged forward, hands already on the patient, pressure applied hard and fast, muscle memory snapping into place even as my pulse roared in my ears. Blood soaked my gloves. The world narrowed to control: stop the bleeding, stabilize, breathe.
“What the hell were you thinking?” I snapped, the words out before I could stop them.
The room went quiet in that particular, suffocating way — everyone pretending not to listen while listening, anyway. No one moved. Even the monitors seemed to hold their breath.
“I—” she started.
“You do not lean across an unsecured patient,” I said sharply, each word precise and unforgiving. “Not ever. That’s how people get hurt.”
Her face drained of color, shock flickering there before she masked it. “I was just?—”
“I don’t care,” I cut in. “This is not a game.”
The words hit harder than I intended. I felt it the instant they left my mouth, felt the way they cracked against her instead of correcting, but it was too late to pull them back. Authority demanded its pound of flesh.
A nurse cleared her throat. Another quietly resumed compressions. The room exhaled and surged forward again, work reclaiming its territory, but something essential had already broken.
Anya nodded once. Small and controlled. Professional in the way people become when they’ve been hurt and try hard not to show it. “Yes, sir,” she said.
