"You said you weren't hurt."
Donovan's voice filled the corridor before his shoes reached us.
I turned because everyone else had. He stood in the doorway like he'd been carved out of silence—suit buttoned, face unreadable. Julieta sat on the bed with her shoulder wrapped, an ice pack in her lap. Dana hovered by the IV pole, jaw tight.
"Donovan," Julieta tried, voice small. "I—"
"Don't," he said. Two words that stopped Julieta mid-apology.
Dana stepped forward. "Mr. Knight, thank you for coming. She slipped on the stairs. It was an accident. We called security and the ambulance."
Donovan looked at the nurse by the chart and then at Julieta. He didn't ask where. He didn't look angry and he didn't look soft. He looked like someone who was calculating costs.
"What happened?" I said before I thought.
Heads turned. My voice sounded too loud in the sterile air.
"You were told everything," Dana said fast. "Julieta's fall isn't anyone's fault. She's fine—"
"Fine?" Donovan's lips tightened. "Fine enough to keep working on set?"
Julieta's face crumpled. "No, I can still—"
"You're hurt," Donovan said simply. "You said you weren't hurt."
"I didn't want to cause trouble," Julieta whispered.
"Trouble?" Donovan's hand found the arm of a chair and gripped it. He didn't break anything. His silence did the breaking.
I stepped closer. "I'll cover the hospital bill," I
