Tom McKenna.
There’s something about him. Eyes work like a mirror to the soul, and his were telling me he’d seen it all.
And they were peeling back my layers. If there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s when people come too close. I prefer to keep them at a distance, outside my aura. And yet, with one single stare, he cut right through my energy field.
I panicked.
God, what the hell was I thinking? That ridiculous stunt with my pager? I’ve handled emergencies and chaos without breaking a sweat, but one smirk from him, and I’m fumbling like some amateur. How did he do that? Maybe it’s because this time it’s not just about my professionalism or my reputation. There’s more at stake. It makes me wonder, am I actually ready to become head of department?
I push the thought aside and head toward the infirmary.
Let’s see if I can be of use. Work is always a welcome distraction. It gives me something I can control.
To my surprise, there’s actually someone sitting on the edge of the examination table, pressing a blood-soaked towel to her hand.
“What happened?” I ask, rushing to grab a pair of gloves.
“She fell by the pool.” Nurse Shayna is standing by her side. “Cut her thumb on a piece of glass. I was about to stitch it up, but perhaps you can take a look, Doctor?”
I nod and step closer. “I haven’t seen you around before. What’s your name, sweetie?”
“Samira, it’s my first week. God, this is so embarrassing.”
I grin. “First weeks are always epic, Samira. Let’s take a look.”
She removes the towel, blood immediately wells up from the deep cut in her thumb.
“Okay,” I say, inspecting the damage. “It’s not as bad as it looks, but just as Shayna said, you’re going to need a few stitches.”
She nods quickly and looks away from her hand. Shayna prepares the local anaesthetic while I look for the suture.
“It’ll sting for a second, but after that, you won’t feel a thing. Just keep breathing, okay?”
She winces as the anesthetic goes in, her free hand gripping the table.
“You work near the pool often?” I ask, trying to keep her distracted while the anaesthesia kicks in.
“Yes. Sometimes at the front desk. I’m usually not this clumsy.”
“It’s not you. Shards work like a magnet. Seen it a hundred times.”
Felt it a hundred times.
She laughs and it’s enough to make her shoulders lose some tension. It makes my work easier. My hands move quickly as I stitch the wound. I’ve had years of practice in the field, and my fingers know how to close a wound by heart.
My mind, however, can never be trusted. It has this annoying little habit of wandering off.
I tie off the last stitch, trim the thread, and press a bandage over the wound.
“There. You’re all set,” I step back and peel off my gloves. “Keep it clean and dry, and come back in a few days to get the stitches checked.”
“Thank you, Doctor.”
“Anytime, Samira. Be careful.”
I watch her leave the infirmary. Then my mind goes back to him.
His smug grin, that raw Scottish accent, the way he teased me when he saidDoctorafter catching me in the act.
