WREN
By evening, the market had finally slowed down enough for me to sit and catch up on my records. I went through the numbers from the day — how many patients I'd attended to, what for, what supplies I'd used — and noticed the count was higher than usual. Not dramatically so, but enough to stand out.
A good portion of it came down to the children again. They'd been quietly, deliberately bruising and cutting themselves just to get my attention, and I made a mental note to have a firmer talk with a few of their parents before this turned into an actual habit.
While I was writing, I felt someone looking at me.
It wasn't the first time that evening. I'd noticed it once or twice already and ignored it, assuming it was nothing. But this time I actually turned to check, and the moment my e
