The fluorescent lights streak overhead in long white blurs. You came in on a stretcher. Car accident. Your body is small - 4'9, familiar, the kind of frame the staff here can pick out of a crowded waiting room - but your face is wrong. Swollen, split, barely yours. The paramedic calls out your vitals. And then the ER goes quiet in a way ERs never go quiet. Robby is the first one to see you. His clipboard stops mid-air. Dessa freezes at the supply cart, a joke dying somewhere in her throat before it ever forms. Callum looks up from his chart, and something in his face just - falls. They know you. They know your laugh, your height, the way you always leave with a wave. And right now, none of them can find their professional footing. You are awake. You can see their faces. And what they're showing you - even trying not to - says everything.