She reached for the penlight, checking pupillary response, mentally building the differential as the room moved around her.
Neurological insult. Possible head trauma. Internal bleed.
“Doctor Laurel?—”
The voice cut in from her left.
Maggie straightened slowly and turned.
The woman standing across from her wasn’t one of her regular residents.
Younger. Early thirties, maybe. Scrubs wrinkled like she’d slept in them. Hair pulled back hastily, a few strands already escaping at the temples. There was exhaustion written into the set of her shoulders—but her eyes were sharp. Alert. Watching everything at once.
“Yes?” Maggie said coolly.
“I think you’re missing something,” the woman said.
No hesitation. No apology.
The room froze.
It wasn’t dramatic—just a subtle, collective stillness. A dozen small movements paused mid-action. Maggie felt itimmediately: the shift in attention, the way every instinct in the room leaned toward her response.
She held the woman’s gaze.
“And you are?” Maggie asked.
“Doctor Evelyn Brooks. Internal medicine. New transfer.”
Of course she was.
Evie Brooks stepped closer to the bed, already scanning the chart with quick, efficient movements. “He was restrained at the scene,” she continued. “Witnesses said he was combative before the crash. That doesn’t fit a clean neurological picture. This could be metabolic—or toxic. We should check glucose and run an ABG before we send him to CT.”
A murmur rippled through the team.
Maggie felt irritation flicker—not at the suggestion, but at the timing.
“Are you questioning my call, Doctor Brooks?” Maggie asked evenly.
Evie didn’t blink. “I’m questioning the assumption.”
That got a reaction.
One of the interns shifted uncomfortably. A nurse glanced between them. Doctor Alvarez stilled at the board.
Maggie studied Evie properly then.
The confidence wasn’t bluster. It wasn’t a bid for attention. It was conviction—the kind that came from pattern recognition and hard-earned instinct. Dangerous in someone this early in their career.
“You’re advocating delaying imaging,” Maggie said.
“I’m advocating for ruling out something faster and reversible first,” Evie replied. “If I’m wrong, we lose five minutes, but if we’re wrong, we lose him.”
Maggie let the silence stretch.
Not as a punishment. As a test.
Then she nodded once. “ABG. Fingerstick glucose. Now.”
