The hospital was quiet for once.
Most of the staff had gone home after the day shift, and the night crew was thin. I’d just finished my rounds when I saw him in the hallway outside the on-call rooms—Dr. John Harlan, the attending surgeon everyone whispered about. Tall, broad-shouldered, dark hair just messy enough to look like he’d been running his hands through it all day. His scrubs hugged his frame in a way that made my pulse jump every time he walked past the nurses’ station.
He caught my eye and tilted his head toward the empty on-call room at the end of the corridor.
I followed. Of course I did.
The door clicked shut behind us.
The room was small—just a bed, a locker, a dim lamp. The air smelled faintly of antiseptic and the coffee he’d been drinking.
John didn’t waste time on
