She swallows hard, snapping her gaze away with visible effort. Her fingers twitch against the fabric of her baggy hoodie. She keeps walking only because the woman behind her pushes her forward.
Halloran’s brows pinch together. “No one told us that.”
The other St. Helen’s woman frowns. “We’re scheduled for an exam in ten minutes.”
“And Radiology is backed up for three hours if we miss this window,” I counter. “You want to sit with a teenager in a waiting room that long?”
Halloran looks at Minxy, then at the woman beside her. I watch the calculation tick behind her eyes. Keeping a schedule versus rocking the boat.
“Is this in the chart?” she asks.
“It will be,” I say. “You know how it is. Dr. Harding got called away to an emergency, so he figured to save you from waiting we’d start with Radiology and then he can do the evaluation when he’s back.”
“Fine,” she says. “Lead the way.”
I step up beside Minxy, not in front of her. “Hi, Miss Grant,” I say quietly. “I’m Samuel. I’m going to walk with you, alright?”
Her eyes flicker up to mine, and she smirks and gives the smallest nod, then looks away.
We turn into the staff corridor. The lighting changes slightly; the hum of the lobby fades. Doors line the walls, mostly closed. There’s no one here right now, which is luck or good timing or both.
Halfway down the hall, my phone vibrates in my pocket. One short buzz.
Gideon’s signal. He’s in position.
I keep my expression neutral. Halloran doesn’t notice. She’s checking her phone, probably making sure no one is going to yell at her for moving off script.
“St. Helen’s is a long drive,” I remark casually. “You have to do that often?”
“Every other week,” the other woman answers. “It’s necessary. These girls need structure.”
I bite off the reply I want to give and nod instead. “Right.”
We reach the intersection that splits to Radiology on one side and the service wing on the other. On paper, Radiology is to the right. The red emergency exit we need is to the left, around the corner, out of sight of any curious eyes in the main hall.
Gideon stands at the intersection dressed in a dark blazer and open-collared shirt, the picture of a consultant who bills by the hour and doesn’t tolerate inefficiency. His badge lists him as “Dr. Ezra Lane, External Evaluation Specialist.” He’s pretending to scroll something on his phone, but I know he’s watching every move we make.
“Halloran?” he calls, glancing at the name on her badge.
Minxy freezes again. Her eyes widen, and her lips tremble. She knows that voice; she knows him.
She mouths “Uncle G,” tiny and soundless.
He gives her the smallest nod. A signal only she would notice. Her shoulders shake once before she gets them under control.
Halloran, oblivious to everything, answers. “Yes?”
“Dr. Harding asked me to thank you for bringing Miss Grant down,” Gideon says. “He was just paged to an emergency. He wants imaging done first to save time. My team will take her from here.”
She stiffens. “We were told to go straight to exam room 203.”
“Things change,” he says mildly. “Treatment plans evolve.”
The other woman from St. Helen’s steps closer, eyes narrow. “We should stay with her.”
Gideon gives a pleasant non-smile. “You can wait in the family area outside Radiology. There’s coffee, vending machine snacks and motivational posters.” He turns his attention to Halloran. “Look, I appreciate that you’re protective. Truly, I do. But we’re on an internal clock for equipment time. Either we move her now, or I reschedule this entire evaluation and send her back to the school without seeing anyone today.”
That does it. Even they know that wasted days cost money.
