Knock knock.
Not frantic. Just sharp. Commanding.
The door creaked open behind me.
“Dr. Queen?”
It was the same nurse from before—Olivia, if I remembered right. Brown-haired, sharp-browed, competent. And now, clearly alarmed.
I didn’t turn around.
“I can’t do it,” I whispered hoarsely. “I can’t operate on that man.”
A beat of silence.
Then, “Why?”
“It’s private.”
Another beat.
“Private?” She repeated, like she hadn’t heard me right. “Dr. Queen, he’s bleeding out.”
I turned then, slowly, eyes red, chest still heaving as I leaned on the sink to stay upright. “I know exactly what his condition is.”
“Then you also know he won’t survive without immediate surgical intervention.”
“I can’t do it,” I said again, more forcefully this time. “I won’t.”
“But why?” she asked, stepping ful
