ALLE
The medical wing reeks of lavender today, mixed with that sharp chemical bite of industrial cleaner that always makes my nose itch. My research room sits at the end of the hallway, tucked away where I can work without people constantly breathing down my neck.
I'm three steps from my door when I hear it—a voice, cracking and desperate and pleading in a way that makes my stomach knot up.
My feet stop moving.
The sound bleeds through the wall from Benedicta's consultation room, the one right next to mine. I avoid that space like it's radioactive, but right now I can't make myself walk away from whatever the f**k is happening in there.
"Please, Doctor. I'm begging you. Just—just do the surgery. I'll work. I'll do anything. I just need—"
The voice belongs to an old man. Really old, f
