Jillian stepped into the small break room tucked behind the nurse's station, where the night shift team was starting to gather. The scent of strong coffee hung in the air, blending with the quiet hum of vending machines and the distant rhythm of monitors down the hall.
Nurses lounged in soft chatter, some leaning over clipboards, others sipping from chipped mugs. A junior doctor was half-asleep on the couch, only lifting his head when someone tossed him a snack bar.
As Jillian walked in, a voice called from the corner—Dr. Koh, the night resident.
"Look who's covering for Megan. We didn't think we'd see the legend herself tonight."
Jillian smirked, hanging her coat by the lockers. "I'm just here for the peace and chaos."
"You're definitely in the right place," one of the nurses muttered, making space for her on the couch.
She took a seat, stretching slightly. The shift hadn't even started, but the anticipation already hummed in the air—like a heartbeat waiting to rise.
Dr. Koh glanced down at his tablet. "Couple of post-ops, Cardiac 2's quiet, and we might get an emergency in from Hangzhou. No details yet."
There was a moment of silence, everyone digesting the possibilities. Jillian nodded slowly.
"Let's keep sharp tonight," she said, tying her hair up with a practiced twist. "No one's crashing on my watch."
Someone chuckled. Another nurse raised a mock salute. And just like that, the rhythm settled.
It's a quiet night in the hospital, and Jillian is halfway through her rounds. Suddenly, the emergency room doors burst open. A man stumbles in looking disheveled, bleeding from his side, his shirt torn. He's looking over his shoulder like he expects someone to come bursting in after him.
The nurses panic at first, but Jillian steps forward, calm and focused. "I need gauze, fluids, and a trauma cart. Now."
As they wheeled him into the trauma room, Jillian stayed at his side, barking out instructions. "BP's dropping, get a line in now. Let's move!"
The man's hand suddenly shot out, gripping her wrist with surprising strength. His eyes locked onto hers, sharp, wild, but clear.
"Please…" he gasped, his voice hoarse and urgent. "Help me out. They're after my life."
Jillian froze for a heartbeat, her breath catching. There was something in his voice, raw and pleading. He wasn't just afraid of dying from the injury. He was running from something darker, more dangerous.
But this wasn't the time for questions.
"You're safe here," she said quietly, placing her hand over his. "Let me take care of this first."
His grip loosened, and his head dropped back against the stretcher.
Jillian turned back to the team. "Push fluids. Prep for surgery. And no visitors, no one gets near him without my clearance."
Someone raised an eyebrow, but Jillian didn't offer an explanation. Her instincts were rarely wrong, and right now, they told her this man was more than just a patient.
He was a story waiting to unfold. And it had just landed right in her emergency room.
The surgery was short, delicate, but tense, but Jillian's hands were steady, her focus sharp. When it was finally over, the man was stabilized and moved to a private room under quiet orders from Jillian herself. No name on the chart. No mention on the shift logs. Just Room 304.
Jillian remained by his side, her white coat draped over the chair, eyes trained on the monitors as he slept under light sedation. Outside, the night hummed softly, the hospital lights flickering against the windows. Her phone buzzed once. She ignored it.
Then, movement. She noticed it first on the security monitor above the desk.
A group of people entered the hospital, dressed in civilian clothes. Too casual, but too focused. They didn't stop at the front desk. Instead, they split up, some heading towards the emergencyroom, while others toward the elevators.
Jillian stood slowly, her heartbeat quickening. She stepped into the hallway and called over a night nurse.
"Tell security to lock down the east wing. Now."
"Dr. Jillian ...?"
"Just do it," she said firmly.
She turned back to the patient, still unconscious, the IV line dripping steadily.
Someone was coming for him.
And Jillian wasn't about to let them win.
The nurse Jillian had sent didn't make it in time. The second group of thugs had already slipped into the east wing, moving with calculated silence, their faces unfamiliar and cold. Jillian's breath hitched.
She moved quickly, flicking off the lights and silencing the heart monitor. The room darkened, shadows stretching across the floor like reaching hands. Moonlight bled in through the blinds, casting silver patterns across the patient's bare chest. His breathing was shallow, alert. Awake.
"They're here," she whispered, crouching beside him. "Stay quiet. We don't have long."
His gaze met hers, tired, confused, but filled with trust. "What do we do?"
Her eyes flicked to the storage cabinet. An idea came, reckless and bold. She reached up, pulling the curtain that surrounded the bed halfway around, giving the illusion of privacy, but not fully hiding them. That was the point.
"Strip the gown," she said under her breath.
He stared at her, stunned. "What?"
"They think you're dangerous. If they come in and see you like a patient, like a man too exposed to be a threat, naked, vulnerable, they'll back off. They want to avoid attention. This will throw them."
He hesitated.
"Do you trust me?" she asked, voice low.
A beat. Then a nod.
She helped him out of the surgical gown, tossing it carelessly on the floor. Her own coat followed. She slipped out of her scrub top, draped it at the edge of the bed, and climbed in beside him under the thin hospital blanket. The warmth of his skin brushed against hers. The air shifted between them, but neither spoke of the tension it carried. This wasn't about desire.
It was survival.
She adjusted the blanket carefully, letting just enough show, disheveled hair, exposed shoulders, a soft tangle of limbs in the dim light. To any eyes peering in, it would look like a scene best left uninterrupted.
Footsteps neared. Stopped. The door handle turned.
She held her breath.
A soft creak. A pause. "Disgust," a sound said.
Then… silence.
The door closed again.
They were gone.
Minutes passed before either of them moved. His voice broke the silence first, no louder than a breath. "That was insane."
Jillian allowed a shaky smile. "Yeah. But it worked."
He let out the faintest chuckle, eyes still on hers. "Who are you?"
"Just your cardiologist," she murmured.
But the way they were still lying there, heartbeats steadying together, suggested that after tonight, she might become much more than that.