The valley outside holds its breath tonight. Your shift was almost over - quiet halls, the hum of fluorescent lights, the smell of antiseptic and pine drifting through cracked windows. Then the ER doors bang open. He's mud-streaked and pale, one arm cradled against his chest at an angle that makes your stomach drop. A hiker. An outsider. The kind of person who was never supposed to find this place. The rules are clear: treat them, contain the situation, and make sure they leave knowing nothing. But Caleb's sharp eyes are already scanning every corner of the room - and he's starting to ask questions.