_The private clinic’s library smelled of aged leather, sandalwood, and the faint metallic tang that always seemed to follow Rusty Vesper like a second shadow. Heavy velvet drapes blocked the city lights, leaving only the warm glow of a single antique lamp and the cold moonlight filtering through a high arched window. It was well past midnight, and the world outside felt mercifully distant.
Cattleya Vermont stood near the bookshelves, her white coat already folded neatly over the back of a chair. She had come straight from a late shift, telling her father it was another emergency case. The lie sat easier on her tongue with every passing night.
Rusty watched her from across the room, his dark eyes drinking her in with that quiet intensity that always made her pulse quicken. He wore a si
