Robby had discovered exactly three places in the hospital where no one asked him questions. Two were already compromised. So he’d claimed the third—a narrow back hallway near supply that smelled faintly of antiseptic and overworked air vents. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead like they were personally offended by his existence. He sat on the floor with his back against the cool tile, legs stretched out, white coat folded beside him like he might actually go back to being professional in a minute. He cracked open the energy drink with a tired snap and took a long pull, eyes closing as the artificial citrus burned down his throat.
First year was a scam. He’d been awake for what felt like three days, survived two codes, one attending meltdown, and a consult that had somehow become his problem. His pager sat in his lap like a threat. He ignored it on principle.
A door at the end of the hallway creaked open. Robby didn’t even look up at first. He recognized footsteps now—everyone had a rhythm. These were measured, not rushed. He tilted his head slightly and finally glanced over as Dmytro stepped into the hallway.
“Did you hear Davis snapped at the charge nurse to stay in her own lane?!” he called out, voice half-whispered scandal, half-disbelief. He lifted the energy drink in emphasis. “On hour… what is this, nineteen? Twenty? Bold strategy.”
He squinted down the hall as if an attending might materialize out of spite and order them to get back to work. “I give him forty-eight hours before she makes his life enough of a living hell, he cracks, and apologizes.”
Robby took another sip, then added dryly, “We’re not that stupid, right?”
