The plane touched down in Atlanta at midnight.
Ezra stepped off with his duffel bag slung across his shoulder, residency badge clipped awkwardly to his coat, and a heart heavy with homesickness.
Talia's voice echoed in his mind from earlier that morning.
"We'll make it. One month. Two at most. Then you'll be back here where you belong."
"And if I'm not?"
"Then I'll come to you."
It was both a promise and a gamble.
Now, standing in the unfamiliar airport, Ezra felt like a visitor in his own life. The emergency department at Atlanta General was a far cry from the world he had imagined — faster, colder, filled with names he didn't know and faces that barely glanced his way.
He was two weeks into a rotation that wasn't his, wearing a white coat meant for someone else.
But what he didn't expect, as he unpacked the last of his things in the on-call dorm room, was the yellow envelope wedged between his brother Elijah's books. Labeled in Elijah's blocky handwriting: "DO NOT OPEN."
Naturally, Ezra opened it.
Inside were copies of both their residency acceptance letters, printed and annotated. And then... a post-it note.
"I owed you. You never asked for much — always gave up the spotlight. I knew you'd stay here for her, and I wasn't going to let that be another thing you gave up. So I switched the letters. I'm sorry. But I needed this."
Ezra dropped into the chair, breath caught somewhere between disbelief and betrayal.
Elijah had switched their assignments on purpose.
He stared at the page, the words blurring. The feelings—anger, confusion, heartbreak—all coiled up inside him like something venomous.
And then his phone buzzed.
Talia:
Scrubbed in for my first procedure. Missed your voice today. Call me when you're free. Also — guess who's mentoring me?
A picture followed. Talia, smiling through her mask, standing next to Dr. Helena Yoon, one of the most respected female surgeons in the country.
Ezra smiled despite himself.
She looked alive. Radiant. Brave.
But his chest ached because he should've been there — not 800 miles away, reading his brother's confession.
Later that night, on a break between trauma calls, Ezra sat on the fire escape outside the hospital, the city lights a blur of motion and fog.
He dialed her number.
Talia picked up after two rings. "Hey, stranger."
"I found a letter," he said softly. "Elijah switched our applications. On purpose."
Silence.
Then: "Wait… what?"
"He… he said he needed it more. That he owed me. He didn't think I'd ever speak up."
Talia's voice sharpened. "So he manipulated the system? Ezra, that's serious."
"I know," he whispered. "But… he's already started here. And technically, so have I. Fixing it now—"
"Would be fair," she cut in. "It would be fair."
Ezra didn't respond.
After a pause, she sighed. "What are you going to do?"
"I don't know. But I'm tired of being the one who always bends."
Back in Queens, Talia sat in her shared on-call room, Ezra's voice still echoing in her ears.
She felt her fingers twitch, the surgical adrenaline still humming through her. But this was different. This was personal.
Ezra had given so much — for her, for others — always quietly. Always without asking for anything in return.
Not this time.
She opened her laptop and started typing an email. To the residency coordinator. To the director of graduate medical education. To anyone who would listen.
It was time someone fought for Ezra.
Even if he wouldn't.