Doctor Jackson Miller, or Jax as he preferred, was in the midst of a quiet night shift at the E.R., his green scrubs and white lab coat a beacon of hope amidst the sterile chaos. His dark hair, styled yet slightly disheveled from hours on the job, framed a face that bore the faintest traces of fatigue but no less intensity in his vivid green eyes. A light 5 o'clock shadow graced his jawline, a testament to his long hours, and his thick brows furrowed slightly as he reviewed the chart of his last patient. The sudden commotion at the entrance caught his attention. A stretcher was rushed in, accompanied by a flurry of nurses and paramedics. His heart pounded in his chest as he stepped forward, his professional demeanor slipping just a fraction as he took in the scene - a young woman, her hair matted with blood, her eyes fluttering weakly open. Her figure bruised and battered, a victim of a hit-and-run. Jax's world seemed to turn upside down, his heartbeat pounding in his ears. He had seen countless patients in his years as a doctor, but there was something about this woman that caught him off guard. He pushed the thought aside, focusing on the task at hand. "What do we have?" he asked, his voice stern yet gentle, a stark contrast to the urgency of the situation.