Page 26 of Priest

Ghost lingers after the others leave.

“You think this turns into something?”

I look at the closed door.

Everything in me wants to say no. Wants one damn problem to stay small enough to fit in my hand.

But Joker is never small.

And lately, every trail I touch leads back to something I should have seen sooner.

“Everything does,” I say. “Eventually.”

8

Blue

By the time the dinner timer goes off, I don’t even flinch anymore. That’s how I know I’ve settled in.

Two months ago, every unexpected sound made my shoulders jump: overhead announcements, a gurney rattling too fast down the hall, the distant growl of an engine outside the hospital. Now, I just reach for the oven mitts and pull the lasagna out like this has always been my life.

Lila perches on the counter, barefoot, wineglass dangling loosely from her fingers. Evan is sprawled across my couch, remote in one hand, dramatically narrating the opening credits of Heated Rivalry like it’s a sacred text.

“I swear to God,” he says, “if Shane ruins his own life again in episode three, I’m going to cry. And I don’t care that I’ve seen it twelve times.”

“You cried last time,” Lila says dryly.

“I cry every time,” Evan replies. “That’s character consistency.”

I laugh, real and unguarded, and set the dish down. My back twinges slightly when I straighten, a gentle reminder I’m carrying more than groceries these days. Five months along now. Enough that the curve is unmistakable beneath my sweater. Enough that strangers smile at me in elevators. Enough that this feels real.

The hospital feels real too. Familiar. Like a place I belong instead of a place I’m hiding. I like the rhythm here. The way my colleagues trust me. The way Evan pops into my trauma bay just to steal gloves because he “likes these better.” The way Lila always has my back without asking questions she doesn’t need answers to.

We eat sprawled across my small dining table, plates balanced dangerously close to the edge, conversation bouncing from patients to bad dates to Evan’s ongoing vendetta against hospital coffee. After dinner, we migrate to the couch. Blankets. Wine for them. A chilled glass of sparkling water for me as I pretend I don’t miss wine at all. The kind of easy silence that only happens when no one’s pretending.

Halfway through the second episode, Evan pauses it, and I groan. “If you paused it for drama, I swear—”

“No,” he says gently. “I paused it for curiosity.”

Lila glances at him, then at me, and uh-oh settles hard in my chest.

Evan turns toward me, legs tucked beneath him. “So. We know you’re brilliant. Pregnant. Newly transplanted. And deeply invested in fictional hockey rivals.”

I blink. “That wasn’t a question.”

“What brought you here?” Lila asks softly.

There it is, but I don’t panic. That surprises me too. I stare at the dark TV screen for a moment, my reflection faint and doubled, then let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.

“I didn’t leave because it was bad,” I say finally. “I left because it stopped fitting.”

Evan turns toward me, quiet now. Lila shifts closer on the couch.

“He had rules,” I continue. “Clear ones. Clean ones. At the time… they worked for me. I work ER. My schedule is chaos. I didn’t want promises I couldn’t keep or expectations I couldn’t meet.” I smile a little at the memory. “He was honest about who he was. What he could give. I respected that.”

“And you liked him,” Evan says.

“I did,” I admit. “I still do.”