Reza
The pack hospital smells like antiseptic and ozone and something faintly metallic beneath it all, a clean, controlled scent that settles my nerves the moment I step inside.
This, at least, makes sense.
White floors. Quiet urgency. Purpose that doesn’t hinge on politics or hierarchy but on hands that know what to do and minds trained to do it fast. I straighten my shoulders as I check in, badge clipped neatly where it belongs, hair pulled back tight enough that nothing can fall loose and betray me.
Starla hums softly beneath my skin.
- This is good ground, she says. Useful ground.
“I know,” I murmur, earning a curious glance from one of the nurses at the desk. I offer a quick smile and keep moving.
My first patient is already waiting.
By midmorning, the nerves I woke with ha
