Kneel Alpha: The Surgeon Omega's Revenge

Chapter 15

Nora's POV

The morning had been ordinary. Which was exactly how I liked my mornings. Three post-op rounds. One consultation. A broken wrist from a warehouse accident. A nurse asking where the extra blood bags had been moved. Everything made sense. Everything stayed inside the walls of the hospital.

At 10:18, my pager vibrated. JAX. SECURITY. CALL ME. No explanation. That wasn't like him. Jax only paged me directly when something couldn't wait. I stepped out of an exam room and called him. "I got your page."

"You free?"

"For a minute."

"Come to the east corridor."

His voice was low. Too low. "I'll be there." He ended the call. I handed my patient's chart to another physician. "Cover this for five minutes."

She nodded. "No problem."

The east corridor connected the main lobby to the private elevators. It stayed busy most of the day, but this hour was quieter. Jax stood near the windows. Hands in his jacket pockets. Watching people move through the lobby below. He looked over as I approached. "You came fast."

"You sounded like I should."

"I did."

His eyes swept the hallway before settling back on me. "We had a visitor."

My shoulders stayed relaxed. "What kind?"

"Not a scout."

That got my attention. Scouts announced themselves. Even hostile packs followed that rule. Breaking it caused problems no one wanted. "So who?"

"A messenger."

I frowned. "For Damien?"

"We thought so."

Thought. Past tense. "What changed?"

"He asked for you."

A slow knot tightened in my stomach. "For me?"

Jax nodded. "Name, title, everything."

He reached into the inside pocket of his jacket. Pulled out a plain white envelope. No markings. No return address. Nothing. "I intercepted it before the front desk logged it."

I looked at him. "You broke procedure."

"I did."

"Why?"

"Because my instincts said to."

He wasn't a man who trusted instincts often. When he did... I paid attention. I took the envelope. It was lighter than I expected. One folded sheet inside. Nothing else. No scent. No magical seal. No pack insignia. Just paper. Around us, nurses crossed the hallway carrying supplies.

The elevator chimed. Someone pushed a patient toward imaging. The hospital kept moving. Like nothing unusual was happening. I slipped one finger beneath the flap. Opened it. Pulled out the paper. Typed. Single-spaced. No signature. The first line made me stop breathing for half a second.

Dr. Nora Quinn.

Not Doctor. Not physician. My full name. Perfectly spelled. I kept reading. The words were simple. No threats. No dramatic language. Just information. Almost polite.

You should know that people are asking questions. I read the next line. Questions about Alpha Ashborne. Then another. Questions about you. The paper felt colder in my hands. Jax hadn't moved. He wasn't reading over my shoulder. He was watching my face. I kept mine still. Years of emergency medicine had taught me that. Panic helped no one.

The message continued. Hospitals have many doors. People come and go all day. Some are easier to notice than others.

Nothing illegal. Nothing specific. Just enough. I reached the bottom of the page. There it was. The last paragraph. Short. Precise. My eyes locked onto one line. Didn't move. Read it again. Then again. Without thinking, I folded the paper once. Then opened it back up. The words hadn't changed. Jax spoke quietly. "What is it?"

I didn't answer immediately. Instead, I read every line from the beginning. Sometimes details hid themselves the first time through. Not this time. Everything was exactly where it had been. The message wasn't trying to scare me with loud threats. It was trying to prove something. Someone knew things they shouldn't. Someone wanted me to know they knew. Jax waited. He was good at waiting. Finally, I lowered the paper. "Who brought it?"

"A teenage wolf."

"Recognize him?"

"No."

"He said anything?"

"Very little."

"What?"

Jax shrugged once. "He said he was paid to deliver it."

"And?"

"He left."

"No pack markings?"

"None."

"No escort?"

"No."

Professional. Clean. The kind of delivery planned ahead of time. I looked toward the lobby. Families checked in. Visitors carried flowers. A little boy tugged his father's hand toward the vending machines. Life looked completely normal. That was the point. Danger almost never announced itself. It blended in. I folded the paper carefully. Smaller this time. Jax watched me. "You know something."

"I know enough."

His eyebrows lifted slightly. "Should I be worried?"

"Yes."

He didn't flinch. "Patient?"

"No."

"Staff?"

"I don't know yet."

"What do you need?"

The answer came before I finished thinking it. "Don't log this." He nodded once. "It never came."

"I'll handle it."

"I figured you would."

Neither of us smiled. I slipped the folded paper into my coat pocket. Already my mind was rearranging schedules. Marcus. Iris. Pickup times. Routes home. Who had keys. Who knew addresses. Every possibility stacked itself into neat rows inside my head. I hated that my brain knew how to do this. Practice made strange things feel normal. "I have to get back to rounds," I said.

"I'll increase lobby coverage."

"Quietly."

"Always."

We started walking in opposite directions. After three steps, I stopped. Turned back. "Jax." He looked over his shoulder. "Thank you."

He gave one small nod. "You would've done the same."

He disappeared toward the security office. I stood alone beside the elevators. The hallway suddenly felt much louder. Someone laughed. A phone rang. An elevator opened. I pulled the letter from my pocket one last time. This time I didn't read the whole thing. Only the final lines. The words stayed sharp against the white paper. The message wasn't addressed to Damien. It was addressed to me. It listed my full name. My clinic address. And... My daughter's former daycare. The one I had stopped using six weeks ago.