INT. ON-CALL ROOM — NIGHT

The door closes softly behind Link.

The room is dark. Small. Quiet.

He doesn’t turn on the light.

He stands there for a second. Still.
Then exhales, slow, shaky, like he’s been holding it all day.

He crosses the room and sits on the edge of the narrow bed. 
Just for a second.
He drops his phone on the bedside table.
He doesn’t take off his shoes.
Doesn’t bother undressing. 

He lowers himself carefully, protecting his injured arm, and lets himself fall onto the mattress fully dressed.
One arm resting across his chest, the other secured in its sling.

His eyes close.
The tension leaves his face, piece by piece.
Breathing slows.
Not asleep.
Shutdown.

A body finally letting go after running on adrenaline.

FADE OUT.