INT. GREY SLOAN MEMORIAL – PRIVATE ROOM – LATE NIGHT

The room is dim, lit only by monitor lights and the faint glow from the hallway.

The hospital hums quietly around him.

Link lies awake, propped up slightly, staring at the ceiling.

His phone rests on his chest, screen still on.

A photo Jo sent earlier —

Both kids around Jo reading a book on the couch. Photo mostly taken by his parents. 

A text beneath it:
We love you and we miss you.

Link stares at the screen a bit hurt.

A nurse enters quietly to check on him. 

NURSE
Hey, Dr. Lincoln.
How are you feeling tonight?

LINK
(ironic)
Hanging in there.

She wraps the cuff around his arm, checks the monitor.

A beat.

NURSE
Vitals look good.
Pain okay?

He hesitates.

LINK
Manageable.

She nods, jotting it down.

NURSE
Want something to help you sleep?

LINK
Yeah. Please. 
But a smaller dose than yesterday.
 
NURSE
Alright.

She prepares it.

A beat of silence.

Link swallows, then—

LINK
Hey…
Can I ask you something?

She looks up, attentive.

NURSE
Of course.

LINK
Dr. Beltran’s memorial service…
Do you know what time it is tomorrow? 
I heard it will be livestreamed. 

The nurse’s expression softens immediately.

NURSE
Three p.m.
I can send you the link.

LINK
Yes. Please.
On my hospital email.
 
She nods, makes a note.

Link hesitates again — this one heavier.

LINK
And…
my patient.
The man I was operating on when—

He can’t finish the sentence.

The nurse waits. Doesn’t rush him.

NURSE
I know who you mean.

LINK
Do you know when his funeral is?

The words come out rough, unfinished.

NURSE
I don’t have that information…

Link nods, eyes burning.

LINK
I’d like to send flowers.

A beat.

LINK
Could you help me with that?

The nurse meets his eyes — no pity, just understanding.

NURSE
Of course, Dr. Lincoln.
I’ll contact the family and let you know.

LINK
Thank you.

She finishes adjusting the IV, steps back.

NURSE
Try to get some rest.

She exits quietly.

The door closes.

Link stares at it for a long moment.

Then he turns his head away from the photos on the wall —
from Jo, from the kids — and stares up at the dark ceiling instead.

FADE OUT.