Maggie straightened, walls sliding back into place with visible effort. “This conversation isn’t productive.”
Evie stared at her. “There it is.”
Maggie stepped back, increasing the distance between them. “We’re done with this.”
Evie nodded once, sharp and controlled. “For now.”
She reached for the door, then paused—not turning around.
“Just so you’re super clear, I won’t make myself smaller so you can feel in control,” Evie said quietly. “And I won’t pretend last night didn’t matter.”
The door closed behind her.
That night, alone in the call room, Evie lay staring at the ceiling, replaying everything—not just the sex, not the heat, but the moment Maggie chose distance over honesty.
She didn’t feel ashamed.
She didn’t feel reckless.
She felt awake.
And she made herself a promise—quiet, steady, unbreakable.
She would not disappear on her, there was something too vulnerable there that she craved to uncover. There was something so deep that she wanted to stick around and scratch it out of her.
If Maggie wanted her, she would have to wantallof her.
And Evie wasn’t going to pretend that was too much to ask.
7
MAGGIE
Maggie Laurel had always known when she was being watched.
It wasn’t paranoia. It was pattern recognition. And a strong sense of self awareness.
The signs were subtle at first—too subtle for anyone who hadn’t survived academic medicine as long as she had. A department chair looping her into an email thread she didn’t need to be on. A polite check-in from compliance about documentation that had never once been an issue before. A resident hesitating before answering her question, eyes flicking somewhere over Maggie’s shoulder as if measuring reactions she couldn’t see.
Maggie noticed all of it.
She adjusted accordingly.
Her posture sharpened. Her tone flattened. Her schedule tightened until there was no daylight left to slip through. If she’d learned anything over the years, it was that scrutiny thrived onambiguity. The best defense was clarity. Control. Impeccable professionalism.
Especially now.
She didn’t look at Evie Brooks during rounds.
That was deliberate.
Not because Evie had done anything wrong but because Maggie had. And Maggie would be damned if she let her own weakness compromise Evie’s standing. Or her own.
“Let’s move,” Maggie said briskly, already turning toward the next patient’s room.
The residents followed automatically. Evie did too—half a step behind, quiet but alert. Maggie could feel her presence like pressure at the back of her neck, but she refused to acknowledge it.
Not here.
