“Pancake,” I say automatically, recalling what Levi mumbled on the way in.
Her head tilts. “Yeah. How’d you?—?”
“Levi mentioned. He’s… thorough.”
She smiles again, a little more real this time. And boy, she’s pretty.
That’s a problem.
Levi reappears at the door just as I’m about to say something I shouldn’t.
“I’ll drive you back,” he says, directing it at her.
“To get Pancake,” she says, as if confirming it’s not a fever dream.
I glance down. Still no shoes.
“I’ll see if we have spare sandals in the back,” I murmur, half to myself.
She stands slowly. “Thank you, Dr. Hale.”
I nod. Tight. No warmth in it. I can’t risk warmth.
She follows Levi out. I hear the echo of her soft footsteps down the corridor, the creak of the front door.
And I’m still standing there.
Something in my chest tightens.
I want to offer her shoes. A blanket. A hot meal. Anything to prolong the contact.
But I don’t move.
I watch her leave. And then I shut the door, cross to my office, and lock it behind me.
I’m not one to get rattled. Not anymore.
Not since the implosion with Marissa three years ago. Not since I left Seattle, burnout clinging to my skin like ash. Not since I stepped away from sixty-hour shifts, the blood-soaked chaos, the screaming.
I moved to this town because it was stable, because it made me feel stable.
But Wren?
Wren has me… off-kilter.
It’s not just that she’s pretty.
It’s the way she held herself on that exam bed like she was trying to disappear. The way she watched every move I made, like she didn’t really trust herself around me.
My hands are tight at my sides. Restless. Controlled.
I sit down hard at my desk and pull open the drawer. The flask of peppermint oil is there, where it always is.
I uncap it, press it to my nose, and inhale deeply.
Sharp.
Clean.
