Fifty-eight.
End-stage liver disease.
Cardiac history.
Recent cancer remission.
Septic picture with unclear source.
Advance directive on file.
Family resistant.
Maggie felt the familiar tightening in her chest—not dread, exactly. Recognition.
This was an emotional landmine.
She looked up. “Brooks.”
Evie’s head snapped up immediately. “Yes, Doctor Laurel.”
“You’re taking Carter.”
A beat of silence.
One of the senior residents, Patel, shifted. “Doctor Laurel, that case is?—”
“Complicated,” Maggie finished. “Yes.”
Evie didn’t hesitate. “Okay.”
Maggie held her gaze for a moment longer than necessary, then turned back to the team. “We round in ten. Chart updates by noon. And if you don’t know the answer, you say you don’t know. Guessing is how people die.”
The residents scattered.
Evie stayed.
Maggie felt it before she acknowledged it—the quiet insistence of someone who didn’t know when to back away. Infuriating but intriguing.
“Doctor Laurel,” Evie said.
Maggie kept walking. “Yes.”
“I’m not here to cause problems.”
Maggie didn’t slow. “Then don’t.”
Evie fell into step beside her anyway. “I know I pushed in the ER.”
“You did.”
“I’ll keep my head down.”
Maggie glanced at her then, brief but deliberate. “Don’t.”
Evie blinked. “Excuse me?”
“Keeping your head down doesn’t help anyone,” Maggie said. “It just makes you quieter when you’re wrong. I’m not punishing you; I’m helping you learn. That’s what you’re here for, right?”
