“Blackthorn’s all talk,” Noah assures me, settling back into his seat. “Everyone in town knows he’s an asshole.”
“He seemed pretty serious to me,” I say, unable to shake the cold feeling that’s settled in my stomach.
“He’s been a nuisance for years. Grew up here, but left after high school. He likes to come back in the tourist season and make sure everyone knows how provincial we think we are,” Kai adds, signaling for more drinks. “Don’t worry about him.”
I nod, trying to accept their reassurances. But something about Ryder Blackthorn’s parting words lingers like a bad taste in my mouth. A sense of foreboding that I can’t quite shake.
I’m learning how to trust the instincts I’ve spent a lifetime ignoring. And right now, they’re telling me that Ryder Blackthorn is more dangerous than anyone in this room wants to admit.
TWENTY-EIGHT
HOLLY
Dr. Mercer’sbooming voice echoes down the clinic hallway as he berates a nurse for filing lab results in the wrong folder. I wince, keeping my head down as I update patient charts at the nurses’ station. It’s been three days since he returned to take over as my supervisor, and I’m already fantasizing about Noah’s return from his rotation out to the main hospital in Anchorage.
“Dr. Chang!” Mercer’s voice shifts in my direction, suddenly honey-sweet. “Follow me, please.”
I paste on my most professional smile and follow him into Exam Room 2, where eight-year-old Emma Frost sits on the table, her mother Lila hovering nearby. Emma’s condition has deteriorated since I first saw her—the rash now covers most of her arms, and dark circles shadow her eyes.
“Dr. Chang will just be observing today,” Mercer announces, not bothering to look at me. “She’s still learning how we do things here.”
My jaw tightens. I’ve seen Emma and her twin brother twice since starting at the clinic, building rapport and trust, while Mercer was gone. He seems to think that I spent the week with Noah sitting at the nurse’s station and twiddling my thumbs,waiting for him to come back and teach me something. But I swallow my irritation and nod politely.
“Hello, Emma,” I say, moving to stand where she can see me. “How are you feeling today?”
Before she can answer, Mercer cuts in. “Now, now, Dr. Chang. Let’s maintain proper examination protocol. History first, then physical assessment.”
I step back, my cheeks burning with frustrated embarrassment. Emma gives me a small, sympathetic smile that breaks my heart a little.
“Mrs. Frost,” Mercer begins, flipping through Emma’s chart without actually reading it, “your daughter has a viral rash and mild fever from an infection. Nothing to be concerned about.”
“But Dr. Chang said—“ Lila starts.
“Dr. Chang is still in training,” Mercer interrupts smoothly. “I’m sure she meant well, but sometimes residents can be a bit...overzealous in their diagnoses.”
I bite the inside of my cheek hard enough to taste blood. Last week, I’d explained to Lila my theory that Emma’s symptoms might not be due to an infection, but some sort of environmental exposure. Lila had their house checked for mold, but nothing came of it. I’d ordered more specialized tests, which Mercer promptly canceled upon his return.
“What about the metallic taste she’s been reporting?” Lila persists. “And the tremors?”
“Anxiety,” Mercer dismisses with a wave. “Children pick up on their parents’ stress. The more you worry, the worse her symptoms will get.”
I watch Lila deflate, her shoulders slumping in defeat. Emma’s eyes find mine, silently pleading for help.
“Dr. Mercer,” I venture carefully, “I’ve been tracking another similar case with a child in town. The symptoms are consistent across?—“
“Dr. Chang.” His voice cuts like a scalpel. “A word outside, please.”
In the hallway, Mercer’s friendly facade vanishes. “Listen carefully,” he says, looming over me. “I don’t need a grass-green resident creating panic about some sort of pandemic you’ve cooked up. These are normal childhood illnesses that will resolve with time.”
“But the pattern?—“
“Is coincidental.” His eyes narrow. “Your wilderness certification requires my recommendation, does it not?”
The threat hangs in the air between us.
“Yes, sir,” I mumble.
“Good. Then we understand each other.” His smile returns, plastic and cold. “Now, let’s finish with the Frost girl and move on. I have a golf game this afternoon.”
