I stood in the kitchen for a long moment, holding the pen Calla had given me, listening to Maya move around in the bedroom. The sound of drawers opening and closing. The soft pad of her feet on the hardwood floor.
Then I walked to the junk drawer by the refrigerator, where we kept takeout menus, dead batteries, and things we’ve been meaning to throw away. I dropped the pen inside and pushed the drawer shut.
Out of sight. Out of mind.
CHAPTER NINE
CASSIAN
FIVE YEARS AGO
I was sittingin the attending lounge, halfway through a mediocre cup of coffee and a stack of discharge summaries, when my phone rang with an unknown number. I almost let it go to voicemail. I was tired, and distracted.
But I picked it up.
“Dr. Reed? This is Jessica Mills from Obsidian Hospital. Do you have a moment?”
Obsidian Hospital. The name alone made me sit up straighter. It was one of the premier private hospitals in the city, known for cutting-edge facilities and unlimited research funding—a place I’d been dreaming about since medical school.
“Of course,” I said.
Twenty minutes later, I hung up the phone and stared at the wall, trying to process what had just happened.
They wanted me. Not as a staff surgeon or as another body to fill the rotation. But as someone to build a trauma program from the ground up—with full institutional backing, dedicated resources, state-of-the-art equipment. They were willing to fund it and revolutionize emergency care protocols.
And they wanted me in six months.
I thought about Riven. His father owned Obsidian, and had built it from nothing into the medical empire it was today. Riven and I had been friends since college, but I’d never asked him to put in a word for me. Their relationship was complicated, fraught with expectations and disappointments I’d only glimpsed from the outside. Using that connection felt wrong somehow. Like cheating.
But I hadn’t asked. They came to me.
This was real. This was happening.
I have to tell Calla. I knew that, even as I pulled out my laptop and started making notes. We should sit down together, discuss the opportunity calmly, and make a decision like how married couples do.
Partnership, not sacrifice. That was our agreement.
But the excitement was too much to contain. It buzzed through my veins like electricity, lighting up parts of my brain I hadn’t used in months. I called Obsidian back and asked about timelines, resources, and expectations. I sketched out program structures, calculated budgets in the margins of patient charts, and envisioned the team I would build.
Dr. Amara Okafor for critical care coordination. Dr. James Liu for surgical innovation. And a fellowship program that would train the next generation of trauma surgeons, and discover new techniques.
By the time Calla got home that evening, I’d mentally committed to the next five years of my life.
She walked through the door looking exhausted after a six-hour surgery. She dropped her bag by the door and kicked off her shoes.
“Something smells good.”
“I made dinner.” I’d thrown together a quick stir-fry, nothing fancy. “Come sit. I have news.”
She raised an eyebrow but didn’t argue, settling into her usual chair at the table. I poured wine for both of us and sat across from her, unable to keep the grin off my face.
“You look like you won the lottery,” she said.
“Better.” I leaned forward, the words already tumbling out. “I got a call from Obsidian Hospital today.”
She perked up.
“They want me to build a trauma program from scratch. Full institutional backing that would make our current department weep with envy.” I was talking too fast, I knew, but I couldn’t slow down. “This is everything we’ve talked about, Calla. Everything I’ve been working toward for three years. And they want me to lead it.”
