-Sloane Pierce
The morning had blurred into one of those stretches of time where hours vanished without my noticing. I'd moved from ward to ward, case to case, my hands steady, my mind sharp, as though exhaustion couldn't touch me if I didn't give it permission.
Rounds had been long, notes piling, charts waiting to be updated. I was deep into reviewing post-op scans for another patient—someone who actually *needed* my attention—when the hurried echo of footsteps pulled me out of my focus.
"Dr. Pierce!"
I looked up to find one of the nurses half-running down the hall toward me, cheeks flushed, hair escaping her bun. She clutched a clipboard like it might steady her breath.
"Yes?" My tone stayed clipped, professional, though my stomach tightened. Nurses only came running when something was wrong.
"It's… it's your patient. Delgado. Roxy Delgado."
Immediately, my pulse spiked. "What about her?"
"She's complaining of a headache. She says the pain is worsening."
