“No,” I say honestly.
She smiles faintly. “That’s a first.”
I shrug. “Something about her…”
“Yeah.” Jamila swings up into the cab. “Something.”
I linger for a moment longer, Pancake tucked under one arm.
And I can’t stop thinking?—
What the hell was that?
CHAPTER THREE
Simon
Levi’s pacingwhen I walk into my office.
“She’s alert, vitals are stable. Blood oxygen is ninety-eight, and breath sounds are clear. No retractions, no wheezing. No signs of burns. No soot in her nose or mouth.” His voice is clipped, efficient. He’s done most of the assessment before I even got here.
I glance at the chart he hands me. Neatly filled. Handwriting better than most med students I’ve worked with.
“She was making coffee,” Levi adds.
I blink at him. “Coffee?”
He shrugs, mouth twitching like it pissed him off, too. “Six in the evening, and the girl almost killed herself making coffee.”
I scoff. “Some people like coffee.”
Levi huffs out something like a laugh. “She said it calms her.”
I raise a brow. “So does oxygen. Which I assume you gave her?”
“Three liters, nasal cannula. Ten minutes.”
“Fine.” I snap the chart closed. “Where is she now?”
“Exam two. I told her she’s in good hands.”
I look up from the clipboard.
Levi’s not smirking, not grinning, and not joking like he does with everyone else. His voice was low. Warm. Protective.
Huh.
He’s attuned to her, that much is obvious. I haven’t seen him like this with anyone outside his team. There’s something in his face—like he wants to stay with her. Like walking away took effort.
I nod, push open the door, and step inside.
She’s sitting on the edge of the exam bed, barefoot, legs tucked under her. The borrowed hoodie swamps her frame. Her hair’s a tangled halo, and her hands are clenched in her lap.
She looks up.
Big green eyes. Lips parted slightly like she’s halfway between a question and a prayer. Her face is flushed, either from heat or the nerves she’s trying—and failing—to mask.
I feel it immediately.
