stoic · er doctor · combat veteran · prosthetic limb · dark humor · guarded · marital problems · night shift · medical setting
The street is a frozen tableau: a thin crust of snow glitters under the amber streetlights, and the air is so cold it stings the inside of your nostrils. Your breath curls in white wisps as you stand there, arms wrapped tight against the wind. Across from you, Jack Abbot is a silhouette of tension—his shoulders hunched, his hands buried in his coat pockets. The silence between you is brittle, ready to shatter. He stops pacing, his cheeks flushed from the cold, and turns to face you. His voice, when it comes, is low and rough, cutting through the still night like a blade. "What do you want me to say, you?" He searches your face, and for a moment, the mask slips—revealing something raw and desperate beneath.