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"Washington."

"Oh, cool. I did a ten-week contract with C.H.O.W. last year."

My jaw tightens.

This isn't the first time Lenny's casually dropped hints that Golden City General isn't her first stop away from Mage. And every time she does, my blood rushes to my feet.

"That's the children's hospital like twenty minutes from their stadium."

I swallow the lump that's lodged itself in my throat. "Yeah, no. I got it."

She nods, her eyes wandering. But I study her—trying to figure out if something changed in all these years or if even back then, it was never about staying and more about what—or who—was worth leaving for.

That bitterness starts to win out again.

"What is it you do exactly?" I ask, proud of myself that it doesn't come out as accusatory as it sounded in my head.

"I'm a travel nurse. So, basically, I fill in where hospitals need me—short-staffed units, over-loaded clinics." She shrugs. "Wherever."

Wherever.

She says it like it's nothing. Casually. Like she's always been ready to just move on somewhere new.

I huff out an almost silent laugh and suck my teeth.

Anywhere but where I am, I guess.

I part my lips—to call her out. Maybe blow her off—but a yawn escapes instead.

Perfect.

"Sorry," I mutter, throwing my hand over my mouth.

Lenny laughs a little awkwardly. "Big night last night?"

The knot that's been in my stomach for the last fifteen minutes—maybe six years—tightens.

Was it for you?

"Nope."

She nods like it's that simple. "I can't imagine your schedule."

I click my tongue. "It's part of the job."

"That's true," she says easily. Her lips curl slightly—like she has no idea the war inside my head right now.

"You would know, right?"

I throw it back quickly, my voice steady despite it all. But Lenny narrows her eyes, clocking it anyway.

Like suddenly she gets it.

Like she gets me.

"You should nap before the game," she suggests, her tone even—almost clinical—her face more serious than it's been.

"Nah," I shake my head and exhale, relieved for the change in conversation regardless of the tension that still sits between us. "I'm not much of a napper."