“Yeah.” His office is around the corner, and I follow him there. We enter, he takes his chair and I perch on the edge of one of the hard plastic ones stolen from the waiting room. “Would you like some coffee?” He gestures to a Keurig on a filing cabinet.

“No, thank you.”

“Sure? You look tired.”

I laugh. “I’m off soon. If I have coffee now, I won’t sleep.”

He snorts. “After enough years of pulling crazy hours, you get to the point where coffee stops affecting you that way.”

I nod. “I know.” I pause. “So, what’s up, Doc?”

He rolls his eyes. “Didn’t take you for a Bugs Bunny fan.” He leans back in his chair, eyes on mine. “I’m worried about you, to be blunt.”

“I’m fine, sir.”

He shakes his head. “Don’t ‘sir’ me, Nadia. I’ve been your boss for how many years now? And, I hope, something like a friend. You’ve worked seven days a week for a year now. I’ve let it go, because your work speaks for itself. I can’t stop you from working too much. Hell, I work too much myself. But…I am growing concerned.”

“Did Tess put you up to this?”

“No, she didn’t. I am putting myself up to this.” He hesitates. “I can’t presume to know what you’ve gone through—”

“Then don’t,” I interrupt. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not.” He sighs, leans forward. “You know, before I went into medicine, I almost became a psychiatrist. I’m also an astute judge of people. You have to be, running a department like this. I know you need a distraction. I know you need to keep busy. I know. I get it as well as anyone who hasn’t been through what you’ve been through can understand.”

I clench my jaw. I have to bite back words—all of them bitter, four-lettered. I’m short-tempered, bitter. I know it’s from working too much. But it’s not just that. It’s me, now.

“What are you saying, Alan?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know, honestly. You need more than a day off. I could cut your hours, I could do a lot of things. I am your boss. But…I suppose I wanted to express my concern. You’re pushing yourself to exhaustion, Nadia. Beyond it.” He wipes his face. “You nearly overdosed a patient, Nadia. Lydia caught it. A couple milligrams too much, nothing fatal, but still.”

I feel the blood run out of my face. “I…what? Who?”

“Deckard, 217.”

I think back. I’d been in a hurry, rushing to get the medication dosed so I could get to 214—and then an alarm had gone off, someone had coded. I must have…

Shit.

And suddenly, I’m not angry.

I’m scared.

“Don’t come in tomorrow. Not this department, not any department.”

“Am I…are you firing me?”