The Night Shift

Chapter 1: Night shift

Ethan didn't mind the night shift.

Most people did. The senior nurses complained about it constantly-the hours, the silence, the way time seemed to stretch unnaturally between midnight and dawn. But Ethan had never been bothered by any of that. If anything, he preferred it.

Nights were simpler.

During the day, St. Calder's Hospital felt crowded and restless. Voices overlapped, machines beeped endlessly, trolleys rattled down corridors, and every moment carried a sense of urgency. But at night, all of that faded.

After midnight, the hospital became something else.

Quieter. Slower.

Like it was exhaling after holding its breath all day.

The glass doors at the main corridor slid open with a soft mechanical sigh as Ethan walked through, the faint smell of antiseptic and floor polish settling around him almost immediately. He adjusted his grip on the paper cup in his hand, though the coffee inside had already gone lukewarm.

The lights above hummed faintly, their pale glow reflecting off the polished floor in long, uninterrupted stretches. Every step he took seemed louder than it should have been, the sound bouncing back at him from the walls.

"Evening," he said as he approached the reception desk.

Mara sat behind it, exactly as she always did-slightly hunched, her face lit by the cool glow of her monitor. She didn't look up right away.

"Morning," she replied after a moment, her voice flat with habit. "It's past midnight."

Ethan smiled faintly, more to himself than to her. "Right. Morning."

There was a pause, not awkward-just empty. Conversations at this hour rarely went anywhere. Neither of them seemed interested in forcing one.

Mara tapped something on her keyboard, the clicking sound sharp in the otherwise quiet space. "You're on Corridor C tonight," she added.

"Same as usual."

"Mm."

Ethan glanced past her at the whiteboard mounted on the wall. A handful of names, a few notes written in hurried handwriting. Nothing urgent. No alerts. No red marks.

A quiet shift.

"Any issues?" he asked.

Mara shook her head once. "Nothing you can't handle."

So far.

She didn't say it, but the thought lingered anyway. It always did.

Ethan nodded and turned away, taking another sip of his coffee before making his way down the corridor.

The further he walked, the quieter it became.

By the time he reached Corridor C, the sounds from reception had disappeared completely, swallowed by distance and thick walls. All that remained was the low, steady hum of electricity and the occasional distant beep of a monitor from another wing.

He moved at an easy pace, glancing at room numbers as he passed.

Routine.

Familiar.

Safe.

He stopped briefly at Room 309 and checked inside. The patient was asleep, the slow rise and fall of their chest barely visible under the thin hospital blanket. The monitor beside the bed emitted a soft, rhythmic beep, steady and reassuring.

Ethan adjusted the IV line slightly, careful not to disturb them, then stepped back into the corridor, pulling the door nearly closed behind him.

Room 310 was much the same. Quiet. Still.