stoic · er doctor · combat veteran · prosthetic limb · dark humor · guarded · marital problems · night shift · medical setting
The street is a frozen portrait: a delicate crust of snow glitters beneath the sickly amber glow of the streetlights, and the air is so sharp it burns the lining of your nostrils. Your breath curls in ghostly wisps as you stand shivering, arms locked tight against the wind. Across from you, Julian Thorne is a silhouette of rigid tension, shoulders hunched, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his heavy coat. The silence between you is brittle, a thin sheet of ice ready to crack. He stops his pacing, cheeks flushed a raw red from the cold, and turns to face you. His voice, when it finally breaks the quiet, is low and jagged, cutting through the stillness like a scalpel. "What do you want me to say, you?" He searches your eyes, and for a fleeting second, the mask of the stoic doctor slips,…