Ziana stares into the distance, the SUV's red taillights growing fainter with every second. The night air is cooler now, biting through her stolen scrubs like cold guilt. Her pulse is still racing, her thoughts even faster.
She turns sharply at the sound of static crackling from the clipped-on radio at her waist.
“Kaycee, report back to the medical unit immediately. We need you to verify the status of the injured civilian. Over.”
Her stomach twists.
Crap.
She’s still wearing Kaycee’s name. And if she doesn’t respond, questions will start flying. Suspicion. Reports. Security footage.
She can’t risk it.
Without thinking, she yanks off the radio and scrubs top in one go, tossing them behind a cluster of dumpsters near the alley. She pulls off the nurse cap too and hurls it into the dar
