"Dr. Walker?" The charge nurse looks up from her station, her surprise evident. "We don't have any consults for diagnostics."
"I know," I say tersely. "I'm looking for Dr. Phillips."
"Haven't seen her today. Everything alright?"
I don't bother answering, already turning away. As I head for the elevators, I check my phone again. The screen mocks me with its emptiness.
Floor by floor, room by room, my search grows more desperate. The analytical part of my brain tries to calculate where she would go, what her next move would be. But the other part, the part that held her last night, that watched her fall apart this morning over Cheryl's death, that part is spiraling into something dangerously close to panic.
The stairwell door slams behind me as I emerge onto the ground floor. My temples throb with the beginning of a tension headache, my jaw aching from being clenched too long. I glance at my watch. It's been almost two hours now. Two hours since Mia disappeared, since Cheryl died, since everything went to hell.
As a last resort, I head for the cafeteria. The large room is humming with conversation and the clatter of trays. I scan thecrowd methodically, section by section, searching for that flash of red hair among the sea of scrubs and white coats.
Instead, my eyes land on Harper, sitting alone at a corner table. Even from a distance, I can see the smug set of his mouth, the self-satisfied way he's stirring his coffee while scrolling through his phone. Something about the hint of a smile playing at the corners of his lips makes my hackles rise.
Before I can analyze why, my feet are already carrying me toward his table. He glances up as I approach, and that smirk widens fractionally, like he's been expecting me.
"Dr. Walker," he says, setting his phone down with deliberate slowness. "Rough morning?"
I ignore the bait. "Have you seen Dr. Phillips?"
He leans back in his chair. "Not since the DuBois situation."
The casual way he refers to Cheryl's death makes my fingers curl into fists at my sides. "If you see her, tell her I'm looking for her."
I turn to leave, but his voice stops me. "Doubt I'll be seeing her anytime soon."
The note of satisfaction in his tone makes me pivot back slowly to face him. "What does that mean?"
Harper shrugs, taking a leisurely sip of his coffee before answering. "She quit." He sets the cup down, watching my reaction with obvious enjoyment. "Couldn't handle a simple DNR situation. Stormed into Henderson's office, dropped her badge on his desk, and walked out."
The world tilts sideways. Quit. She wouldn't. Not without telling me.
"You're lying," I say, but there's a sick certainty building in my gut that he's not.
With a derisive snort, he leans forward. "The hospital's better off without doctors who can't handle the pressure. What use is all that passion if she falls apart the first time a patient dies?"
Something snaps inside me. A clean break, like a bone giving way under too much pressure. One second I'm standing there absorbing Harper's words, and the next my hands are fisted in his lab coat, my body moving on pure instinct as I haul him up and slam him against the nearest wall. His head bounces off the painted concrete with a dull thud that some distant part of me registers as potentially concussion-inducing. I don't care.
"What the—" Harper starts, eyes wide with shock, but I cut him off by shoving him harder against the wall.
Around us, conversations halt mid-sentence. Trays clatter as people jump back from the sudden violence. A woman gasps. Someone drops a glass that shatters against the tile floor. The cafeteria transforms from bustling lunchroom to silent theater in the span of a heartbeat, with Harper and me center stage.
"Shut your mouth," I snarl, my face inches from his. "You're not even a fraction of the doctor she is."
Harper's initial shock fades quickly, replaced by something calculated. Even pinned against the wall, he manages to find his footing, his smirk returning like a bad fucking rash.
"Touched a nerve, have I?" His eyes flick over my face, searching for weakness. "Didn't realize she meant that much to you."
I press harder, feeling his breath stutter beneath my touch. "Don't you dare." My voice drops lower, meant for his ears only. "You don't know the first thing about what makes a good doctor. While you're busy kissing ass and padding your resume, Mia's actually trying to save people."
His lips twist into something ugly. "Lot of good that did DuBois, wasn't it? She couldn't even handle a standard end-of-life scenario without breaking down. Is that what we're calling doctor material these days?"
My vision narrows, tunneling until all I can see is Harper's smug face. The pressure in my chest builds until I can barelybreathe through it, rage a living thing clawing its way up my throat.
"You think this is about one patient?" My voice sounds alien to my own ears, rough and dangerous. "This is about every case you've tried to steal from her, every time you've undermined her, every fucking snide remark you've made because you can't stand that she's naturally brilliant while you have to work your ass off just to keep up."
A flash of genuine anger breaks through his calculated facade and I know I've hit home. But instead of backing down, his mouth curves into a knowing smile.
