"Lena?" Dr. Morrison's voice carries professional distance where warmth used to live. "Ms. Walsh expects you in her office. Immediately."
Catherine Walsh's office smells like authority—leather and wood polish and the particular perfume of administrative power. Shedoesn't look up when I enter, making me stand there like a supplicant while she reviews what's obviously my file.
"Sit," she says finally.
I remain standing. My back aches, my feet hurt, and there's a persistent cramp low in my belly that started at the warehouse, but I won't give her the satisfaction of obedience.
She looks up then, one sculpted eyebrow raised. "I said sit."
"I heard you."
Something flickers across her face—surprise that the night shift angel has grown fangs. She stands, circling her desk with predatory precision, and I smell her perfume, expensive and suffocating.
"Dr. Winters' display was unfortunate," she begins, each word carefully measured. "But it's brought to light a situation we need to address."
"My personal life—"
"Affects this hospital when you're pregnant by a man connected to multiple violent incidents, when rival gang members might target you during your shift, when your presence puts other staff at risk." She pauses, letting each point land. "You're a liability, Ms. Cruz."
"That's discrimination—"
"That's reality." She cuts me off with surgical precision. "I'm offering you a choice. Transfer to day shift where we can monitor any situations that arise, or resign. Today."
Day shift means half the differential pay, means working under supervisors who already think I'm trash, means losing the only part of my life that still feels like mine. The cramp intensifies, and I taste copper—either from biting my tongue or something worse.
"You can't do this."
"Can't I?" Her smile reminds me of Miguel's—cold, final. "Girls like you always think they can have it all. The bad boy, the respectable career, the fairy tale ending. But you've made your choice. Now live with the consequences."
I pull out my phone, start recording. "Say that again. The part about 'girls like me.'"
Her face cycles through emotions—shock, rage, calculation. "You little—"
"I'll take days," I say, stopping the recording. "But if you make one more comment about my personal life, this recording finds every labor attorney in the city."
I turn to leave, my hand on the door when she speaks again, softer but somehow worse.
"He'll destroy you. Men like that always do. And when you're alone with a baby and nothing else, remember you chose this."
The apartment should be sanctuary, but Agent Martinez sitting on my couch destroys that illusion. She's all sharp angles—suit, cheekbones, eyes that miss nothing. The FBI shield on the coffee table gleams like a threat.
"Ms. Cruz. We need to discuss your mobile clinic."
Ice floods my veins. Beside the window, Zane's stillness tells me he's calculating angles and odds. Tommy leans against the wall, for once not finding anything funny.
"A patient died," Martinez says, cutting straight to bone. "Marcus Rodriguez. Came to your clinic with a stab wound three months ago. You treated him—beyond your scope of practice, without proper facilities. He died two hours later from internal bleeding you missed."
The name hits like a physical blow. Marcus—twenty-two, scared, begging me not to call an ambulance because he had warrants. I did everything I could, but the wound was deeper than it looked, and by the time I realized...
"That's not—I told him to go to the hospital—"
"You treated him first. Used your RN license to order supplies for procedures you're not qualified to perform. That's practicing medicine without a license. His family is cooperating with our investigation."
My knees want to buckle. The cramp spreads, sharper now, and I taste bile.
"Two weeks," Martinez continues, standing with fluid grace. "This war between the clubs ends, or everyone goes down. RICO charges for them, negligent homicide and fraud charges for you. Your nursing license will be the least of your losses."
She pauses at the door. "You seem intelligent, Ms. Cruz. Maybe convince them peace is better than everyone burning."
