Earn's POV
The fluorescent lights of Siriraj Hospital hummed with their particular frequency, a sound Earn Siriniu had long since learned to tune out. She stood at the nurses' station on the fourth floor, reviewing a patient chart on the tablet in her hands, her white coat crisp despite the fact that she'd been on shift for nearly ten hours. Around her, the hospital moved with its constant rhythm—the squeak of gurneys on linoleum, the beep of monitors, the hushed conversations of families camped out in waiting areas, the efficient footsteps of nurses who'd walked these halls so many times they could probably navigate them blindfolded.
This was Earn's world. Had been for the past seven years since she'd completed her residency. The sterile smell of disinfectant, the weight of responsibility, the strange intimacy of seeing people at their most vulnerable—it all felt more like home than the expensive condo her family had bought her, more real than the society dinners her mother still tried to drag her to.
"Khun Earn, your labs came back for the patient in 412." Nurse Ratana appeared at her elbow, handing over a printed report with the kind of telepathic efficiency that came from working together for years.
Earn scanned the results, her mind automatically processing the numbers. "His liver enzymes are improving. Let's reduce the dosage and recheck in forty-eight hours."
"I'll note it in his chart."
"Thank you, P'Ratana."
The older nurse smiled, the lines around her eyes deepening. "Have you eaten anything today, Khun Earn? You look pale."
"I had coffee."
"Coffee is not food."
"It's sustenance."
"It's liquid anxiety." P'Ratana shook her head with the kind of maternal disapproval that Earn had learned to accept as care. "There's som tam in the break room. Go eat before you pass out. I can't have my favorite doctor collapsing on my floor."
"I'm your favorite?"
"This week. You might be demoted if you don't eat."
Earn felt a smile tug at her lips despite her fatigue. "Yes, P'."
She made her way down the corridor, nodding to colleagues, dodging a custodian's mop bucket, stepping aside to let an orderly rush past with a patient on a gurney. The hospital was always like this—controlled chaos, a carefully choreographed dance where everyone knew their part. Earn had found her place in this world more easily than she'd ever found it in the world outside these walls.
The break room was empty except for Nan Vosbein, who sat at the small table with a medical journal open in front of her and a half-eaten sandwich beside it. She looked up when Earn entered, her face brightening in a way that made Earn feel both grateful and guilty.
"P'Earn! Finally taking a break?" Nan closed her journal, giving Earn her full attention.
"P'Ratana threatened to demote me from favorite doctor if I didn't eat."
"She's right. You work too hard." Nan gestured to the container of som tam on the counter. "Help yourself. I ordered extra."
Earn retrieved a plate and served herself some of the spicy papaya salad, the familiar tang making her realize how hungry she actually was. She'd skipped breakfast, worked through lunch, and it was now past six in the evening. No wonder P'Ratana was worried.
She sat across from Nan, who was watching her with those warm brown eyes that always seemed to see more than Earn wanted to reveal. Nan was a good doctor, thorough and compassionate, the kind of colleague everyone wanted on their team. She'd joined the hospital two years ago, right around the time Earn's life had imploded, and she'd been nothing but kind and supportive even when Earn had been at her worst.
"How was your day?" Nan asked, pushing her sandwich aside as if Earn's presence was more interesting than food.
"The usual. Mr. Chaiwat in 407 is finally stable enough to transfer out of ICU. Mrs. Pornthip's test results came back clean. Young man in 415 learned the hard way that motorcycles and alcohol don't mix."
"Is he going to be okay?"
"Physically, yes. Mentally, I think he's traumatized enough to make better choices." Earn took a bite of som tam, the spice sharp on her tongue. "What about you? I heard you had a complicated case this morning."
Nan's expression grew serious. "Appendectomy that turned out to be more involved than we thought. But she pulled through. She's young, strong. Should make a full recovery."
"That's good."
They ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes, the kind of quiet that exists between people who work together long enough to not need constant conversation. Through the small window, Earn could see the Bangkok skyline beginning to glow as evening settled over the city. From up here, the chaos of the streets below was distant, abstract. Up here, there was only the clean lines of medicine, the clear purpose of healing.
"P'Earn," Nan said softly, pulling Earn's attention back to the break room. "Are you doing anything this weekend?"
Earn's internal alarms went off, gentle but insistent. She recognized that tone, that careful hopefulness. "I'm on call Saturday. Why?"
"Oh. I was just thinking, there's this new restaurant that opened near Silom. I heard the food is amazing, and I thought maybe we could..." Nan trailed off, reading something in Earn's expression. "Never mind. It was just a thought."
Guilt twisted in Earn's stomach. This wasn't the first time Nan had suggested something that could be interpreted as more than colleagues grabbing food. Wasn't the first time Earn had deflected without directly addressing what was happening. She knew she should say something, should be clear about the fact that she valued Nan's friendship but couldn't offer anything more.
But the words stuck in her throat, trapped behind the wall she'd built around anything resembling romantic feelings.
"Maybe we could grab lunch here instead?" Earn offered, a coward's compromise. "The hospital cafeteria is terrible, but at least it's convenient."
Nan's smile was understanding, tinged with disappointment. "Sure, P'Earn. That sounds good."
Earn hated herself a little bit in that moment. Hated that she was doing to Nan exactly what she'd resented Tawan for—leading someone on without meaning to, being unable to give what was being asked for. But the alternative was worse. Opening herself up to the possibility of feeling something again, of being vulnerable again, of risking the kind of pain that had nearly destroyed her two years ago.
Better to keep things professional. Safe. Controlled.
Her phone buzzed. A text from her mother.
Mae:Dinner on Sunday. Your father wants to see you. No excuses this time, Earn.
Earn suppressed a sigh. Sunday dinner with her parents meant hours of subtle disapproval wrapped in expensive food and careful conversation. Meant questions about why she was still single, suggestions about nice men from good families, pointed comments about how she was getting older and time was running out. Never mind that she'd never been interested in men. Never mind that she'd been in love with someone her parents had never deemed acceptable.
Never mind that her heart was still in pieces from that love.
Earn: I'll be there, Mae.
Mae:Good. Dress nicely. We're having guests.
Of course they were. Her parents never did anything without an agenda.
"Family trouble?" Nan asked, noticing Earn's expression.
"Is there any other kind?" Earn set her phone down. "My mother wants me at Sunday dinner. Which means she's probably invited someone for me to meet."
"Someone?"
"Someone eligible. Someone appropriate. Someone who definitely isn't..." Earn stopped herself. She'd been about to say "someone who isn't a woman," but even now, two years after the worst fight she'd ever had with her parents about her sexuality, the words felt dangerous.
Nan reached across the table, her hand coming to rest near Earn's. Not touching, but close. An offer of comfort. "You could always tell them you're seeing someone."
"Are you volunteering?" Earn meant it as a joke, but it came out wrong, too sharp.
Nan pulled her hand back, hurt flashing across her features before she masked it. "I was just trying to help, P'Earn."
"I know. I'm sorry." Earn rubbed her face, exhaustion settling into her bones. "I'm being an ass. Long day."
"It's okay." But Nan's voice was quieter now, withdrawn.
The moment stretched between them, uncomfortable in a way their silences rarely were. Earn searched for something to say, some way to fix whatever she'd just broken, but before she could find the words, the break room door burst open.
P'Ratana stood in the doorway, her usual calm replaced by urgency. "Khun Earn, we have incoming. Major trauma from a traffic accident. Multiple vehicles. ETA three minutes."
Earn was on her feet instantly, doctor mode engaging like a switch being flipped. All the messy personal feelings vanished, replaced by the clarity of purpose. "How many?"
"At least five confirmed. One critical."
"Prep OR-2. Get Dr. Suwit down here if he's still in the building. Nan, you're with me."
They moved as one, years of training and instinct taking over. The break room, the awkward conversation, Nan's hurt feelings—all of it fell away in the face of immediate need. This was what Earn understood. This was where she was certain.
The elevator ride down to the emergency department was silent except for the mechanical hum and the distant sound of sirens growing closer. Earn's mind ran through protocols, mentally preparing for whatever was about to come through those doors. Beside her, Nan did the same, her face set in professional concentration.
The ER was already mobilizing when they arrived. Nurses prepping beds, orderlies clearing pathways, the controlled pre-storm energy that always preceded major trauma cases. Dr. Suwit was already there, pulling on gloves, his grey hair slightly disheveled.
"What do we know?" Earn asked the charge nurse.
"Multi-vehicle collision on Rama IV Road. Five confirmed injured, two critical. First ambulance is pulling up now."
The automatic doors slid open and the chaos flooded in.
The first patient was a middle-aged man, conscious but in obvious pain, clutching his side where blood seeped through his shirt. "Possible internal bleeding," the paramedic rattled off stats as they transferred him to a gurney. "BP dropping, pulse elevated. He was the driver of the third car."
"Take him to bay three," Dr. Suwit ordered, already moving to assess.
The second ambulance arrived thirty seconds later. An elderly woman, unconscious, head trauma visible even from a distance. "Get her to imaging now," Earn commanded, her hands already examining the wound, checking pupils, running through the mental checklist that had become second nature.
The third ambulance.
The fourth.
Bodies and blood and the organized chaos of emergency medicine. Earn moved between patients with practiced efficiency, triaging, prioritizing, making split-second decisions about who needed immediate intervention and who could wait. This was what she'd trained for. This was what she was good at.
Then the fifth ambulance arrived.
The paramedics brought her in fast, their faces grim. "Twenty-three-year-old female, pedestrian versus vehicle. She was thrown approximately ten meters. Head trauma, possible internal injuries. GCS of 6 and dropping. She's been unresponsive since we arrived on scene."
Earn moved to the gurney, her trained eyes taking in the young woman's condition. Beautiful, even in trauma. Young. Someone's daughter, someone's sister, someone's friend. Blood matted her dark hair, her face already swelling from impact. The monitor showed vitals that made Earn's stomach clench.
"Get her to CT now," Earn ordered. "And page neurosurgery. Nan, prep her for surgery. We can't wait."
"On it, P'Earn."
They worked with synchronized precision, Earn and Nan and the whole ER team moving like the well-oiled machine they were. IV lines, medications, constant monitoring. The young woman's blood pressure was dropping despite their interventions. Not good. Earn had seen enough trauma to know that look, that particular configuration of injuries and vital signs.
Critical. Life-threatening. The kind of case that could go either way.
"Do we have an ID?" Earn asked as they prepped for transfer to imaging.
One of the nurses checked the young woman's belongings, pulled a student ID from her bag. "Anda Walchanon. Twenty-three. Chulalongkorn University."
Something cold slithered down Earn's spine at the surname, but she pushed it aside. Walchanon wasn't uncommon. Could be anyone.
"Any emergency contacts?"
"Checking now." The nurse scrolled through the phone that had been in Anda's pocket. "There's an ICE contact. Sister—Ploy Walchanon."
The world tilted.
Earn's hands, always so steady, trembled for just a second before she clenched them into fists. Ploy. It had to be a coincidence. Bangkok was a city of millions. There were probably hundreds of people named Ploy Walchanon.
But Earn knew. In that deep, instinctive way that had nothing to do with logic and everything to do with the way the universe seemed determined to torture her, she knew.
This was Ploy's sister.
The girl on the gurney, fighting for her life, was the little sister Ploy had talked about endlessly during their relationship. The college student she adored. The family member she'd do anything to protect.
"P'Earn?" Nan's voice seemed to come from very far away. "Are you okay?"
Earn forced herself to focus. Personal feelings didn't matter. Not now. There was a patient who needed her, and she'd be damned if she let her own ghosts interfere with doing her job.
"I'm fine. Let's move."
They rushed Anda to imaging, Earn's mind compartmentalizing ruthlessly. This was a patient. Just a patient. The fact that saving her life would bring Ploy back into Earn's orbit was irrelevant. The fact that Ploy would walk through those hospital doors at any moment was irrelevant.
All that mattered was the young woman on the gurney and the ticking clock of trauma.
The CT results came back worse than Earn had hoped. Subdural hematoma, significant brain swelling, multiple fractures. They needed to operate immediately to relieve the pressure, to give Anda any chance of survival.
"Call the family," Earn told the nurse, her voice steady despite the storm raging inside her. "They need to get here now."
As the team prepped Anda for emergency surgery, as Earn scrubbed in and cleared her mind of everything except the procedure ahead, she didn't let herself think about Ploy.
Didn't let herself remember dark eyes filled with tears.
Didn't let herself remember the worst morning of her life.
Didn't let herself remember love that had burned so bright it had left nothing but scars.
There would be time for all of that later.
Right now, she had a life to save.
Even if that life belonged to the sister of the woman who still haunted her dreams.
The universe, Earn thought as she pushed through the doors to the operating room, had a truly cruel sense of humor.
But she'd learned two years ago that the universe didn't care about human suffering.
It just kept spinning, indifferent and relentless.
And all anyone could do was try to survive it.