The stranger’s eyes flicked down to the wound, then back to her. No panic. No grief. Just silent calculation. And something else, reluctant approval, maybe?

She turned her attention to the man on the table.

He was tense, even as he bled. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, his jaw tight. But it wasn’t fear, it was rage, barely contained. There was a sharpness to him, like he would bite if he could.

He looked at Daphne like she was disposable.

“You’re not going to ask how it happened?” he snapped, voice gravelly. Daphne kept her tone neutral. “Not my job.”

He smirked. “Smart.”

“Smarter if you stayed conscious.”

The stranger’s mouth twitched. Not a smile. Just a subtle tilt, like he was impressed by her restraint.

The patient was stabilized and moved to imaging. The stranger followed without a word, his hand brushing lightly against his brother’s arm as they disappeared down the hallway.

Daphne stood still for several seconds after they were gone.

“What the hell was that?” she whispered to herself.

“Trouble,” a voice said behind her.

She turned to see Laurent, coffee in one hand, brows raised. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“More like a shadow,” she said absently.

He studied her. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Just… tired.”

Laurent sipped his coffee. “You weren’t on the schedule.”

“I got called in.”

He tilted his head. “That explains the circles under your eyes. You look like you haven’t slept.”

She didn’t respond.

He tried a smile. “Long night?”

Daphne pressed her lips together. “Something like that.”

Laurent’s tone softened. “You sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine, Laurent. Just need to get through the shift.”

But she wasn’t fine. Not really.

Something about that man had shaken her. Not with fear. But recognition. Or anticipation.

The way he looked at her it wasn’t flirtation. It wasn’t curiosity. It was focus. Like she was a variable in a problem he’d already solved. Like he was just waiting for her to catch up.

And the other man the one with the wound, clearly his brother was the exact opposite. Brutal energy, twitchy posture, a predator caught mid-hunt. Their contrast was striking: one, silent thunder; the other, barely bridled fire.