The White Coat

The auditorium for Grand Rounds was packed. Every seat was filled with white coats—interns, residents, fellows, attendings. The air buzzed with the nervous energy of a thousand overachievers.

Avery sat in the third row, next to her friend Sarah, a cardio fellow.

"They say the Dean is going to formally introduce the new department heads today," Sarah whispered. "I finally get to see if Dr. Cross is as hot as the pictures."

"He's probably plastic," Avery muttered, checking her phone. No text from Jules. He had been ghosting her for two days since the almost-kiss.

The lights dimmed. The Dean of Medicine walked onto the stage.

"Good morning," the Dean boomed. "We are entering a new era at St. Jude’s. Excellence is our standard. Innovation is our goal."

He droned on for ten minutes. Avery stifled a yawn.

"And now," the Dean gestured to the wings, "it is my distinct privilege to introduce our new Chief of Neurosurgery. A pioneer in minimally invasive techniques, formerly of Mount Sinai... Dr. Julian Cross."

Applause erupted.

A man walked onto the stage.

He was wearing a pristine, tailored white coat. Beneath it, a crisp button-down shirt and tie. He moved with a confident, easy stride, commanding the room before he even reached the podium.

Avery stopped breathing.

The hair was neater. The jaw was freshly shaven. The exhaustion was masked by professional polish.

But the eyes were the same. The piercing, startling blue.

It was Jules.

Avery felt the blood drain from her face. Her ears started to ring.

Dr. Julian Cross—*Jules*—stepped to the microphone. He scanned the audience. His gaze swept over the interns, the residents... and then stopped on the third row.

He locked eyes with Avery.

He froze. For a microsecond, the mask slipped. The confident Chief vanished, replaced by the terrified man from the chapel. He looked horrified.

He hadn't known she was a Fellow. He hadn't expected to see her here.

"Thank you," Julian said into the microphone. His voice was the same gravelly baritone that had whispered to her in the dark. But now, amplified by the speakers, it sounded distant. Authoritative. False.

"Dr. Cross is... Jules?" Sarah whispered, gripping Avery’s arm. "You know him?"

Avery stood up. She couldn't breathe. The walls were closing in.

"I have to go," she choked out.

She pushed past the knees of the other doctors, ignoring the glares. She stumbled into the aisle and ran for the exit doors.

She didn't look back at the stage. If she had, she would have seen the new Chief of Neurosurgery grip the podium until his knuckles turned white, watching her leave.

\---