Ward waited until the floor quieted before he made the call.
He already knew what his attendings would say. She’s stable. The EEG’s promising. Don’t chase ghosts. They’d said it with the kind of calm that passed for kindness in hospitals. He nodded, filed it away, and did it anyway.
The specialist arrived just after noon—orthopedics with trauma crossover, gray hair pulled back tight, eyes that missed very little.
She introduced herself briskly, then stopped talking the moment Ward pulled back the sheet.
The lash marks along Scarlet’s back were faint now, pale and uneven, like the echo of something violent. More visible on her thighs—thin lines that didn’t quite follow anatomy, didn’t make sense unless you already knew the story you weren’t supposed to tell.
The specialist exhaled slo
