“Private recovery.”
“Vincent Mercer’s room?”
Her expression tightened. “His representative requested you specifically.”
“I’m not private staff.”
“You are staff assigned where administration places you.”
“And last night I was inventory.”
Her eyes flashed. “Be careful, Nora.”
There was that word again.
Careful.
People loved asking women to be careful when they meant quiet.
I folded my hands in front of me to hide that they had begun to shake.
“I want my assignment documented,” I said.
“It will be.”
“And I want documented that I am not to be placed in unsafe situations because of assumptions about my body.”
Melissa’s face went blank. “Excuse me?”
“You told me he was going to hurt someone and it might as well be someone who could take the impact.”
Her mouth parted.
For years, I had laughed along. At comments about squeezing through narrow spaces. At jokes about my scrubs. At coworkers who offered diet tips disguised as concern. I had swallowed anger until it became part of my posture.
Now, the words felt heavy in my mouth, but they came out.
“I’m good at my job,” I said. “My size does not make me disposable.”
Melissa looked away first.
It was not an apology.
But it was something.
“I’ll note your reassignment,” she said stiffly.
“Thank you.”
I walked away before my courage could collapse in front of her.
Vincent was moved that afternoon to a secure private suite on the top floor. The room overlooked Lake Michigan, gray-blue beneath a sky still threatening rain. Security stood outside. Caleb occupied the chair nearest the door like he had been carved there.
Vincent lay propped against pillows, pale beneath his bandages but awake. His right hand was gloved again.
I noticed.
He noticed me noticing.
“Clinical observation?” he asked.
“Always.”
“Say it.”
“You put the glove back on.”
“It’s my hand.”
“I didn’t say it wasn’t.”
Caleb leaned back in his chair. “She always like this?”
Vincent did not look away from me. “Apparently.”
I checked the monitors. “Vitals are better.”
“Your enthusiasm is overwhelming,” Vincent said.
“You survived surgery after threatening half the hospital. I’m rationing praise.”
Caleb smiled into his coffee.
Vincent looked at him. “Don’t you have men to frighten?”
“Several. Unfortunately, you keep getting shot.”
“That was inconsiderate of me.”
“Very.”
There was affection beneath the dry exchange. Buried deeply, but there. Like an old photograph tucked inside a legal file.
I adjusted Vincent’s IV. “Dr. Imani wants you resting. No business conversations.”
Vincent’s eyes shifted to Caleb.
Caleb looked uncomfortable.
Which immediately told me a business conversation had arrived.
“What?” Vincent asked.
Caleb set his coffee down and pulled a tablet from his coat. “We got warehouse camera footage.”
Vincent’s face changed.
The room tightened.
I stepped back. “I can leave.”
“No,” Vincent said.
Too quickly again.
Caleb studied him.
Vincent’s jaw hardened. “She already knows enough to be in danger.”
“That isn’t comforting,” I said.
“It wasn’t meant to be.”
Caleb placed the tablet on the rolling table and turned it toward Vincent.
The footage was grainy. A warehouse corridor. Shadows. Rain streaking across a high window. A figure moved near the loading bay, face hidden by a hood. Two men entered the frame. Then the image cut to another angle, where muzzle flashes lit the screen briefly.
Vincent watched without blinking.
Caleb tapped the screen. “This is ten seconds before.”
A woman appeared at the edge of the frame.
Dark coat. Dark hair. Face partially turned away.
The effect on Vincent was immediate.