Splendid.
Noah sighs. “Great.”
I glance over. “Don’t strain yourself with enthusiasm.”
He lifts a brow. “I’m just not a fan of dragging dead weight.”
Tex snorts.
I don’t even look at him. “Then keep up.”
Noah actually pauses at that. The corner of his mouth twitches—something between amusement and disbelief.
“Alright, Ashthorne,” Noah murmurs. “Let’s see what you can do.”
The tray lands on our table with a wetthunk. A preserved fetal pig. My stomach twists for a half second—then settles. I’ve seen worse.
Tex picks up the scalpel like it’s a weapon. “You ever even done one of these before?”
I pull on my gloves. “You ever stop talking?”
Noah grins at that. “Oof. I like her.”
I glance over the instructions on the projected slide, then point. “Start the midline incision at the sternum. Cut shallow or we’ll tear through the lower organs.”
Tex narrows his eyes, but he does it. Clean, steady. I hold the tissue back with forceps. Noah angles the light. We fall into rhythm.
“Digestive or respiratory?” Noah asks, peering over the pig.
“Digestive,” I say at the same time as Tex.
His gaze flicks to mine. “You actually know this?”
I nod. “Liver’s right there. Dark brown, lobed. Stomach’s tucked under the left lobe. That tube you just nudged? That’s the esophagus.”
Noah whistles low. “Okay, overachiever.”
“Guess I’m not dead weight after all,” I murmur, lips twitching.
Tex doesn’t answer. He just starts cutting again—slower this time, morecareful. I catch him watching me from the corner of his eye as I point out each part with precision.
By the time we’ve labeled the major systems and entered our data, our tray is the cleanest one in the room. Noah logs the results while I remove my gloves with a satisfying snap.
Tex leans back, arms crossed again—but this time, it’s not a wall. It’s evaluation.
“You’re not bad,” he says finally.
I arch a brow. “That’s your version of a compliment?”
Noah laughs. “That’s practically a love letter coming from him.”
I smile faintly, but inside, something steadies.
The hall isquiet when I get back from class.
My feet drag. I’m tired — not just from school, but from always being on alert since the ‘Blackmoore Four’ entered my day. I’m already counting down to a hot shower and some quiet relaxation before diving into homework.
But then I see it.
