There she is.
Minxy steps down from the van with her shoulders drawn high and her hands balled in the pockets of a gray sweatshirt with the school emblem. She is smaller than I remember from photos, thinner too. Her hair is braided tight against her head. Her eyes do not move much, just a quick flicker around the lobby and then straight ahead, like someone trained her not to stare.
Nurse Halloran climbs out next. She’s in pale blue scrubs, badge on her chest, expression brisk. Another woman in aSt. Helen’s polo gets out from the passenger side, carrying a clipboard and a tablet. Halloran takes Minxy’s elbow, not rough, but not gentle either, and they walk toward reception.
I feel the shift inside myself the way a gear clicks into place.
Game on.
Gideon stands, stretches like he’s been sitting too long, and walks toward the coffee kiosk in the corner near the hall we need. That puts him at our junction point.
I stand a beat later and head toward the reception desk, timing my steps with theirs.
“Good morning,” the receptionist chirps at the St. Helens’ women. Her hair is coiled into a bun so tight it looks painful. “Check-in for an evaluation?”
“Yes,” the woman with the tablet answers. “Patient: Grant, Minxy. 10:30 exam with Dr. Harding.”
“Perfect, I see her here,” the receptionist says, fingers tapping keys. “We’ll bring you back in just a moment.”
I smooth a hand down the front of my scrub top and step into the little space between the desk and the hall. Not blocking. Just nearby. Staff, not a stranger.
Halloran glances at me, eyes flicking over my badge. “You’re new.”
“Agency,” I lie easily. “Float staff. Hartman.” I give her a short nod, bored and busy. “You’re from St. Helen’s?”
She exhales, already tired. “Every other week.”
“Lucky us,” I say.
The receptionist prints a wristband, walks around the desk, and wraps it around Minxy’s wrist. The girl doesn’t flinch, but she goes still in the way kids do when they’re used to shrinking themselves. Her eyes stay down, lashes rigid, shoulders drawn in too tight for her small frame. I’m shocked she hasn’t recognized my voice yet to look up and see who I am.
“Exam room 203,” the receptionist says. “Main hall, second left.”
“Got it,” Halloran replies. She steers Minxy toward the corridor.
I wait two beats, then fall into step behind them.
“Excuse me?” I pitch my voice just loud enough to carry.
Halloran glances back. “Yes?”
I gesture toward the folder in her hand. “You said you were here for the Grant eval?”
“We are,” she says, guarded now.
“Radiology called up,” I say. “They want Minxy in Radiology first.”
I step closer to Minxy as I speak, just enough to make sure she hears me clearly.
The moment my voice wraps around her name, her head lifts like someone pulled a string under her chin. Her eyes lock onto me, and recognition slams into her face so fast she forgets to breathe.
Her lips part. Her chest stutters. She looks at me like I’m a ghost and a lifeline in the same breath.
“Uncle Silas,” she mouths before she can stop herself.
The words fracture something in my chest.
I raise a finger to my lips, soft but firm. “Shhhhh,” I mouth.
