The hospital buzzed with the kind of silence that screamed of something waiting to explode.
Ezra could feel it in the way people passed him in the hallway — brief glances, tightened smiles, clipped nods. He wasn't sure how many of them knew yet, but word was spreading.
By noon, he was called into the director's office.
Dr. Hanley was a hawk of a woman, sharp-eyed, sharp-tongued, and completely devoid of time for nonsense. She gestured for him to sit without looking up from the papers in her hand.
"I reviewed the materials your partner submitted," she said. "Rather meticulously, I might add."
Ezra's heart pounded. "And?"
Dr. Hanley finally met his eyes. "You were the rightful candidate for the Johns Hopkins research fellowship. The submission timestamps and recommendation letters confirm your application was altered without your consent."
Ezra exhaled, tension melting off his shoulders.
"We're escalating the matter to the residency board," she added. "There will be consequences for Elijah."
He hesitated. "I don't want him expelled."
Dr. Hanley raised a brow. "Then you're a better man than most. But make no mistake — he'll be removed from the running for any future fellowships. And he'll be reassigned out of your rotation."
Ezra nodded slowly. Fair enough.
She leaned back. "You could have buried this. Why didn't you?"
"Because someone reminded me that silence isn't the same as kindness."
Outside the hospital, the evening sun dipped low, casting golden light through the trees. Ezra found Talia waiting on the hospital lawn, leaning against a lamppost, her hair pinned up in a loose bun, her expression unreadable.
"You did it," she said as he approached.
He smiled. "You did it."
They walked together in silence for a few steps, until she turned to him with a teasing grin. "So, Mr. Deserving and Noble, what's next?"
Ezra stopped walking and looked at her seriously. "I was thinking about that."
"Oh?"
He took her hand. "I want to put down roots here. Not because I have to — but because I want to. With you."
Talia blinked, surprised by the sincerity in his voice.
"I want the research," he continued. "But I also want the Friday-night grocery runs. The shared call schedules. The fights about who left the dishes. I want all of it. If you'll have me."
She didn't respond at first.
Then, slowly, she leaned in and kissed him — soft and certain. When she pulled away, her voice was low.
"Only if I get to leave the dishes."
Ezra laughed. "Fine. But I get the closet space."
They stayed like that — warm in the golden hour, the hospital behind them and everything ahead.
Later that night, Talia lit a small fire in their tiny apartment balcony's firepit — a celebration of sorts. They sat with cocoa mugs in hand, watching the flames flicker against the darkness.
"Do you think Elijah will forgive you?" she asked.
Ezra looked at the fire for a long time. "I don't know. I hope he does. But even if he doesn't… maybe it's time I stop waiting for people to tell me who I am."
Talia squeezed his hand. "For what it's worth, I always knew who you were."
He turned to her. "Who's that?"
She smiled. "Mine."
And in that moment — against firelight and falling ash — the weight of everything they'd endured burned away, leaving only two hearts that had finally chosen each other, against all odds.