Rise of a Silenced Wolf

Vance-2

Killian

"What's that?"

"Tell Celeste Hutton to keep her mouth shut."

I paused, setting the bag down. "You think she's the one spreading these rumors?"

"Who else?" Enya’s eyes flashed with pure disgust. "Patient details, especially critical medical decisions made on the operating table are strictly confidential. The only people in that room were you, me, a notoriously tight-lipped anesthesiologist, and a few residents who couldn't even read the fetal monitor properly. The only person with the motive, the access, and a track record for spilling the beans is Celeste. She’s the OB head nurse. She has access to every single consult file, and she treats patient privacy like it's a juicy side dish for her lunch."

I sat down opposite her, pulling out a sandwich and a small container of fruit. "If you have an issue with her, why not confront her directly?"

Enya rolled her eyes again. "Because she's my supervisor. Because your dear sister is currently just a floor nurse, and she holds the keys to my performance reviews. If I give her a piece of my mind, I am sure she’ll write me up for being insubordinate and difficult to work with."

Her logic was airtight. I couldn't hide the slight twitch of my lips. "And since I outrank her, you think the dirty work should fall on my shoulders."

"Exactly. Plus, you're the future Alpha of the pack. The way she fawns over you is practically nauseating. If you so much as tell her to watch her tongue, she’d probably pull out a notepad and log it as a direct pack decree." Enya leaned back, crossing her arms tightly. "Honestly, I don't get why you keep her in the pack hospital. She is the biggest gossip hound I've ever met in healthcare. One tiny whisper goes into her ear, and by noon, it’s the entire department's watercooler gossip. If it were up to me, I would have run her out of the territory ages ago."

"Celeste has been here for seven years, longer than I have. When it comes to clinical wound care, she’s easily in the top three," I countered, chewing a bite of my sandwich before continuing. "Particularly with complex wound debridement and healing management. There are maybe two surgeons in this entire region who can beat her technique. And she has a gift for handling a very specific type of patient. The ones who need extra hand-holding, who love being coddled by the head nurse. They absolutely adore her."

"So you tolerate a garbage personality for the sake of her technical skills?"

"I tolerate her because skills can be taught, but the ability to soothe a panicked, insomniac mother into a peaceful sleep is a rare trait. Her problem isn't her competence. It's her inability to draw a line between what’s appropriate for the ward and what should be left for happy hour at the bar. That can be corrected. Banishing someone from the pack, however, is irreversible. She has a family here, and a daughter in middle school."

I set the rest of my sandwich down, locking eyes with my sister. "I’ll handle Celeste. But you need to understand something, Enya. Celeste isn't just intimidated by my title as a surgeon. She’s intimidated by the Vance name. You are the Alpha's daughter. No matter what position you hold in this hospital, people will always look at you with more fear and respect than you’ve technically earned. Learning how to wield that influence effectively will serve you a lot better than just rolling your eyes."

Enya pouted, but she didn't argue. That was her classic tell. Whenever she knew someone was right but was too stubborn to admit it, she’d just look away.

After a long silence, Enya’s voice softened. "Do you think July is going to make it?"

"Optimistic. The nerve damage wasn't a total transection. If she commits to aggressive physical therapy, there's a strong chance she’ll walk again." I paused, my brow furrowing. "But her vocal cords are a different story. The trauma is complex. I can't tell yet if it's a temporary nerve paralysis or a literal structural tear. We won't know for sure until she stabilizes enough for a laryngoscopy."

"I didn't mean her physical injuries," Enya clarified quietly. "I meant her. Have you looked into her eyes, Killian? It’s like staring into a well of pure despair. I feel like she’s standing right on the edge of a cliff, stretched so tight she's about to snap, but somehow... she's still holding on for that child."

I studied my sister's face. It was rare for her to use such heavy words to describe a patient. As a nurse, she had been trained just like me. We’re supposed to maintain a professional distance, stay objective, and leave our personal feelings at the door. But right now, her eyes held a profound sadness.

"You're paying an awful lot of attention to her," I noted.

"And you aren't?" Enya countered, meeting my gaze squarely. "Ever since she came out of the OR, you've been checking in on her chart every hour."

"I am her primary surgeon—"

"You never micro-manage individual recovery tracks like this," she interrupted. "Usually, you finish the surgery, sign the dictation, log the post-op orders, and move on to the next trauma case. Since when do you personally shadow a patient’s hourly progress?"

I opened my mouth to defend myself, but the words caught in my throat. She had called me out, and she was right.

"Something is seriously wrong there," Enya murmured, her eyes distant. "And it's not just her injuries. It's the vibe between her and her husband. Did you see the way she looks at him? Most wives look at their husbands with affection, or reliance, or even just mild annoyance. July looks at him with none of those. She just stares. Like she's tracking a predator."

She hesitated, shaking her head. "But maybe I’m just overthinking it. Maybe she’s just in too much pain to play the doting wife."

"No, you're not the only one sensing red flags," I admitted, leaning forward. "I still can't wrap my head around how she fell out of that bed. Her core strength is completely shot from the anesthesia and the physical trauma. In her current condition, rolling over isn't an easy task."

"Do you think Joseph pushed her?" Enya whispered.

"I don't know," I said honestly. "I'm highly suspicious, but I suppose we can't completely rule out the possibility that the intense panic of almost losing her baby or sheer post-trauma agitation triggered a sudden, incredible rush of adrenaline."

Enya frowned deeply. "I hate not knowing the truth."

"Me too. But my gut is screaming that she's hiding a massive secret. Keep a close eye on her," I commanded, my protective instincts taking the wheel. "Do not allow Joseph to be left entirely alone in that room outside of official visiting hours. The second you notice anything out of the ordinary, page me immediately."

"Already ahead of you," Enya said, a smug little smirk breaking through her grim expression. "I already rearranged the ICU nursing schedule. My shifts perfectly block out the visiting hours. Every time Joseph is in that room, I’ve scheduled myself to walk in for routine checks at least once an hour. And I already had a quiet word with the night-shift aide. She knows to keep her eyes peeled."

I raised an eyebrow, genuinely impressed. "You have carried out this plan?"

"Yup," Enya gloated. "You were right, Killian. I am the Alpha's daughter. I might just be a nurse, but I have every right to pull whatever strings I have to protect someone who can't protect themselves. You're the one who taught me that—build the fortress before the enemy even realizes there's a war."

Before I could reply, a sharp, polite knock rattled the breakroom door.

"Come in," I called out.

The door swung open to reveal Celeste Hutton. She was dressed in her pristine head nurse uniform, her platinum blonde hair pinned back into a flawless, tight bun. Her makeup was perfectly intact, looking far too immaculate for someone who had just survived a brutal day shift. The moment her eyes landed on me, they lit up, and she hurried into the room.

"Killian! Thank goodness you’re still here. It’s an absolute zoo outside," she burst out, her voice a mix of anxiety and tightly suppressed excitement. "The media got wind of the cliff survivor. They’re calling it the Ninety-Meter Miracle, and reporters from various packs have been flooding the gates all evening. There are at least five or six different outlets out there, some even from outside our territory. They’ve got cameras and microphones blocked at the ER entrance and both ends of the ICU hall. Security is completely overwhelmed. They’re demanding an interview with the survivor, trying to get a photo. Two of them even tried to forge visitor passes to sneak into the ward!"

As she spoke, a flush of excitement colored her cheeks. Celeste lived for the spotlight. It didn't matter that the cameras weren't there for her; just being adjacent to a massive news story made her feel like she was radiating importance.

"Killian, as her primary surgeon," Celeste took a step closer, clasping her hands over her heart in a theatrical plea, "could you step out and make a brief statement? The local network mentioned they’d love to do an exclusive feature focusing on our hospital’s cutting-edge trauma response. Honestly, this is a golden opportunity to showcase the medical supremacy of the Silverling Pack to the outside world—"

"Tell them to pack up and leave," I interrupted coldly.

Celeste’s smile froze on her face. "But Dr. Vance, this is incredibly positive PR—"

"Tell them to leave," I repeated impatiently. "A hospital is a sanctuary for healing, not a reality TV set for reporters looking for a headline. My patient is not a PR product. She needs silence, privacy, and a sterile environment, not camera flashes in her face. Anyone attempting to cause a circus outside her door is actively interfering with medical treatment. Under Silverling territory law, disrupting a critical medical facility is a class-three misdemeanor. Do I need to quote the specific pack penal code for you, Nurse Hutton?"

A deep wave of shame washed over her face, and she lowered her head. "I apologize," she whispered.

"Good," I said smoothly. "And Celeste, while we are on the clock, you will address me as Doctor."

"Yes, Dr. Vance," she stammered.

"Enya," I turned to my sister, "go find the security chief. Tell him that any unauthorized media personnel or non-family members who aren't cleared must be evacuated from the inpatient wing within five minutes. Anyone who refuses to cooperate is to be detained for territorial trespassing."

"On it," Enya said, practically vibrating with satisfaction as she darted out the door.

Celeste instinctively turned to follow her, but I called her back before she could escape. "Hold on a moment, Celeste. There is one more matter we need to discuss."

She froze, her shoulders tensing up as she turned back to face me, visibly sweating. "Yes, Doctor?"

"As head nurse, I’m sure you won't mind having a brief chat about the recent breach of patient confidentiality regarding our ICU trauma case," I said, my tone deadly calm.

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Enya stifling a massive grin just before she slipped into the hallway, shutting the door behind her.

I gestured coldly to the empty chair across from me. "Take a seat."