The conference room was long and cold, sealed off by frosted glass that blurred the hospital beyond it into indistinct shapes. A pot of coffee sat untouched at the center of the table, already cooling, already forgotten.
Ward sat halfway down the table with a legal pad open in front of him. His pen moved steadily, almost automatically, filling the page with neat lines of handwriting. He barely registered what he was writing, only that stopping felt dangerous.
Around him sat people with titles that carried weight. Dr. Hart, Chief of Medicine, at the head of the table. Dr. Lebeau from risk management. Dr. Singh, the psychiatry liaison. Two attendings. An administrator with a tablet balanced in her hands. Two other medical students who sat rigidly, eyes forward, grateful not to be the focus
