Evie’s mouth twitched—almost a smile, quickly restrained. “So you want me to challenge you again?”
“I want you to learn when to challenge,” Maggie replied. “And how. There’s a difference.”
They stopped outside Daisy Carter’s room.
Maggie didn’t open the door right away.
Instead, she turned fully toward Evie, blocking the entrance with her body—not aggressively, but deliberately. Up close, Maggie could see what Evie worked so hard to disguise: the tension riding her shoulders, the way she held herself just a fraction too still, like she was bracing for impact.
“That’s obvious,” Maggie continued. “You see patterns. You ask the right questions.”
Evie’s mouth parted slightly, then closed again. She nodded once, cautious, unsure where this was going.
“But smart isn’t enough,” Maggie said. “Not here.”
She rested her hand on the door handle, grounding herself in the cool metal. “This case will test you. The medicine is complicated. The family is angry. And you won’t be able to save her.”
“You don’t know that.”
Maggie studied her for a long beat—not irritated, not dismissive. Assessing.
“That,” Maggie said quietly, “is exactly what I mean.”
Evie’s gaze flickered, sharp and wounded all at once, before she looked away—like an animal startled by headlights, instinct screamingdangereven as pride kept her rooted.
Maggie didn’t soften.
She opened the door and stepped inside.
Daisy Carter looked smaller than her chart suggested. Not fragile exactly—worn. Her skin was pale, stretched tight over prominent cheekbones, her breathing shallow and uneven. Her eyes drifted open and closed, unfocused, as if staying present required effort.
Her daughter, Kara, sat in the corner chair, spine rigid, arms wrapped tight around herself. Kara’s gaze snapped to Maggie immediately—sharp, appraising, already braced for a fight.
Maggie introduced them both, her voice calm, neutral. Then she stepped back slightly and gestured toward Evie.
“Go ahead,” Maggie said.
Evie approached the bed with a gentleness that surprised Maggie—not tentative, but intentional. She didn’t rush. She adjusted the blanket first, smoothing it carefully, then checked the IV lines, her touch light but confident. When she spoke to Daisy, her voice softened without losing clarity.
“Hi, Ms. Carter. I’m Doctor Brooks. How are you feeling right now?”
Daisy’s lips curved faintly. “Tired,” she whispered. “Very tired.”
Evie nodded as if that answer mattered. “That makes sense.”
Kara watched every movement like she was waiting for Evie to slip—waiting to justify the anger she was holding together by sheer force of will.
“What’s happening to her?” Kara demanded. “Everyone keeps saying infection, but no one can tell me where it is. Or why she’s getting worse.”
Evie glanced at Maggie—just a flicker of a look. A question, not a plea.
Maggie gave a small nod.
Answer. You’re here.
Evie turned back to Kara. “Your mother is septic. That means her body is fighting an infection that’s affecting her whole system. Her blood pressure is low, and her labs show signs of strain. We’re still looking for the source, but we are treating it aggressively.”
Kara leaned forward, hands braced on her knees. “Is she dying?”
