NICK
That wasn't a trick, the voice inside my head said, the clinical detachment completely gone for once.
There was no sarcasm left, no small, witty remarks. Just the hard, heavy thud of my pulse against my ribs as I started to run.
He's here.
The elevator indicator light was already climbing toward three. I didn't wait. I slammed my shoulder against the heavy fire door of the stairwell, my lungs screaming as I took the concrete steps three at a time, ignoring the hot, liquid pain in my knees.
"Dr. Bennett!" a voice barked as I burst onto the second-floor landing. It was one of the orthopedics residents, a thick folder of charts clutched against his ribs. "Mr. Park's post-op lab results just came down from the pavilion. We need your signature on the—"
"Send it to my tablet," I snarled, not even slowing my pace as I reached for the next door handle. "I'll look at it within the hour."
"But doctor, the family is waiting—"
