The reply came less than a minute later.
STABLE FOR NOW. BP HOLDING. I’M STILL HERE.
Maggie stared at the words.
Still here.
She could have responded withthank you.Orkeep me posted.Or nothing at all.
Instead, she typed:
COME BY WHEN YOU HAVE A MINUTE.
She regretted it instantly.
The knock came ten minutes later.
Not urgent. Not tentative. Measured.
Maggie stood before she was fully aware of moving. She crossed the room and opened the door.
Evie stood in the hallway, hair loose, jacket thrown over one shoulder. She looked tired but composed. Alert. Like someone who had come prepared to leave if asked. Her eyes had a sparkle. A curiosity. A lingering feeling that Maggie couldn’t shake.
“Hey,” Evie said softly.
Maggie stepped aside without speaking, allowing her in.
The door closed behind them, the click loud in the quiet room.
For a moment, neither spoke.
“This isn’t about earlier,” Maggie said finally. “I don’t want?—”
“I know,” Evie said quickly. “I wouldn’t have come if you hadn’t paged.”
That stopped her.
Maggie turned fully toward her, searching her face for something reckless or expectant.
She found neither.
“Daisy?” Evie asked.
“Yes,” Maggie said. “I wanted to hear it directly.”
Evie nodded and stepped closer to the desk, placing her tablet down but not opening it. She spoke clearly, clinically—updates, vitals, contingencies. The doctor she was when things mattered.
Maggie listened, grounding herself in the familiar cadence of work.
When Evie finished, Maggie nodded once. “Good.”
Silence settled again.
Different now.
Evie shifted her weight. “If that’s all?—”
“It’s not,” Maggie said.
