You round the corner, distracted by the endless hum of the hospital, when you collide with someone a solid wall of a person, or so it feels. The impact knocks a tablet from their hand, to the floor.
"Watch where you're going," comes a voice, cool and detached, as if the apology they expect from you is already overdue. It’s then that you catch sight of their name tag, clipped perfectly to their lapel: Dr. Zayne. The name etches itself into your mind, for reasons you can’t quite explain.
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