"Actually," he said, and his voice cut through the room like a scalpel, "this meeting isn't about removing either of you from the team."
I blinked. "What?"
"The ethics complaint raised questions that required investigation. We conducted that investigation thoroughly." Riven moved to stand at the head of the table, his presence commanding, reminding me why he ran this hospital in his thirties. "And we found nothing. No evidence of compromised judgment. No bias in your protocol decisions. No indication that your personal history has affected your work in any way."
"Mr. Graves," Dr. Cross interjected, "hospital policy clearly states that prior romantic relationships between colleagues require?—"
"Hospital policy is being revised." Riven's tone left no room for argument. "Effective immediately."
The room went silent.
Mireya stepped forward, her calm presence somehow grounding the tension that crackled through the air.
"Riven and I went through a similar review when our relationship became known," she said. "The scrutiny was invasive and demoralizing. We were questioned about whether we could remain objective or being together created conflicts that made us unfit for our positions."
"None of those concerns materialized," Riven continued. "Because personal relationships don't automatically compromise professional competence. They only become a problem when people allow them to become one."
He turned to face the ethics representatives directly.
"I'm implementing a new policy. Staff are permitted to have personal relationships, including romantic relationships with colleagues and supervisors with appropriate disclosure. However…" His voice hardened. "Any staff member found to becompromising patient care, demonstrating bias in professional decisions, or allowing personal matters to interfere with their duties will face immediate termination. No warnings. No appeals. One strike and you're gone."
Dr. Cross and Mr. Webb exchanged glances but neither of them spoke.
"You're saying..." Cassian's voice was hesitant, like he was afraid to believe what he was hearing. "We can both stay?"
"I'm saying the ethics complaint has been dismissed. The investigation is closed. You're both cleared to continue your work." Riven's expression softened, just slightly, as he looked at his friend. "Obsidian is a private hospital. I have the authority to set policy that serves our patients and our staff. And losing two of our best trauma surgeons over an unfounded complaint doesn't serve anyone."
I felt tears building in my eyes again. Tears of relief and gratitude.
"Riven," I managed. "I don't know what to say."
"Don't say anything. Just keep doing excellent work." He glanced at Mireya, and something passed between them—a look between two people who knew each other far too well that a whole conversation took place in a single glance. "I learned the hard way that letting fear dictate who gets to stay isn't leadership. It's cowardice."
The ethics representatives gathered their papers and stood, clearly dismissed. Dr. Cross paused at the door.
"I'm glad this worked out the way it did. Your team’s work really is exceptional."
Then she was gone, and it was just the four of us in the conference room.
Cassian crossed the room and pulled Riven into a hug. It was awkward and fierce and nothing like the controlled, measured Riven I'd come to expect.
"Thank you," Cassian said, his voice rough. "I don't have words. Just… thank you."
Riven patted his back, looking distinctly uncomfortable with the physical contact. "You're welcome. Just don't make me regret it."
"We won't."
I turned to Mireya. Her eyes were bright, though her expression remained calm.
"You talked to him," I said.
Mireya offered me a small smile. "I may have reminded him that institutional policy should protect people, not punish them for being honest about who they love. He needed to hear it from someone who understood."
I hugged her before I could talk myself out of it. Mireya stiffened for a moment, then relaxed into it.
"Thank you," I whispered. "For everything..."
"You are welcome"
