"Is that?—"
"Seradwen?" The doctor lifted the pendant between her fingertips, her eyes aglow with admiration. "Yes. I bought it the day I was accepted into the surgeon specialty."
Vivienne rerolled the same bandage, becoming annoyed at herself for not being better at this. "Did you always want to practice medicine?"
Melodie let out a slow, thoughtful breath. "I did, but the news shocked my parents."
Vivienne arched an eyebrow.
"In Suharath, my mother is an opera singer, a legendary soprano," Dr. Mercer said, pulling her long braids over one shoulder. "That’s why they named me Melodie. They always assumed I'd follow her onto the stage."
Vivienne smirked, tying off another bandage. "You might be the first person in existence whose parents were disappointed when their kid wanted to be a doctor.”
Melodie laughed, the sound rich and warm. "They nearly died from the shock."
Vivienne chuckled, but the warmth drained from her expression as Melodie studied her, eyes shining with questions.
"And you?" Melodie asked. "The captain makes it sound like your parents are walking, talking libraries."
Vivienne’s smile flickered, faint and fragile. She had spent so long worrying about whether they’d even find her parents alive that the weight of their expectations felt almost irrelevant. Almost.
"That’s an accurate description," she admitted, throat tightening. "The Banners have been antiquaries for generations."
Melodie rested her chin on her palm, her dark eyes thoughtful. "And you never considered something else?"
Vivienne hesitated, rolling the last bandage a little too tight.
Not with any seriousness. Not without guilt. How could I throw away generations of work?
“No, not really,” she replied, her tone hollow. Her father’s voice echoed in her memory.Selfish. Short-sighted. Self-centered.
Melodie’s voice broke through the storm in her mind. "I think expectations weigh just as heavy as grief."
Vivienne’s brow creased. "What do you mean?"
Melodie’s fingers tapped absently against the wooden table. "Think of it this way. Meeting someone’s expectations means grieving all the things you cannot be. Meeting your own expectations means they grieve the life they envisioned for you."
Vivienne stilled.
The words hit like a rogue wave, stealing her breath.
If her parents were gone, so were their expectations. Expectations she had spent her entire life trying and failing to meet. And with them, every version of their relationship that might have been.
A tear slipped down her cheek before she could stop it.
Damn it.
She swiped at it instinctively, only for a fresh sting to bloom across her palm, prompting a grimace.
Melodie clicked her tongue. "Show me your hands."
Vivienne reluctantly turned them over.
Melodie hissed between her teeth. "Agh, worse than I thought."
She stood gracefully, gliding to one of the locked drawers. The click of the key was quick, muscle memory taking over. She pulled out a small jar of salve and a dark glass bottle.
"Hands on the table," she ordered.
