I hurried to the theatre 9 straight after lunch. Our afternoon case was about to begin, and when I walked in, Jackson was already there, prepping the fibreoptic scope. He barely looked up as I entered, but when he did, I saw it—that flicker of hesitation in his eyes before his expression reset into something neutral.
“Hey,” he said, calm and collected. “You ready for this?”
I forced a shrug. “I guess.”
“Okay. Here’s how we’ll run it.” His tone was instructional now, clipped and clinical. “One person handles the scope, the other gives the drugs and advances the tube. You’ll take the scope today. It’s harder to learn, but the other job’s got too many moving parts.”
I nodded, trying to push past the heat bubbling under my skin. He was my boss. He had known. And yet here he was, acting lik
