At ten-thirty, Mom shuffled to bed with the help of her walker. I retreated to my room and stared at my phone's calculator until the numbers blurred. Medical bills. Rent. Lyra's tuition. Groceries. Utilities.
No matter how I added it, the numbers didn’t make sense.
For months, I'd picked up every shift I could handle. Cut every unnecessary expense. Counted coins. Skipped meals and sacrificed sleep. But somehow it still wasn't enough. No matter how carefully I stretched each dollar, it hadn’t been enough.
We were still drowning.
Mom had no idea how close we were to the edge. I’d made sure of that. She needed to focus on healing, not worry about eviction notices and mounting debt.
I closed the calculator and set my alarm for five-thirty. I would have three hours if sleep didn’t elude me. That would have to be enough to get me through tomorrow.
My phone shattered the silence.
I bolted upright, heart hammering as I grabbed it.
"Hello?" My voice came out rough.
“Mireya Rosen? This is Jason from ICU. We have three criticals from a multi-vehicle pileup. Dr. Cross specifically requested you. Can you come in?”
The words washed the sleep from me like cold water. I was already on my feet, sprinting across my room to get changed.
“What are the injuries?” I asked, pulling a fresh pair of jeans from my creaky closet.
“Severe trauma and internal bleeding. Dr. Cross said he needs his best surgical assistant. Said he'll only work with you.”
My hands paused for a heartbeat.
His best.
Those two words hit harder than any compliment I'd ever received. From Dr. Riven Cross—the surgeon who barelyacknowledged my existence outside of handing him instruments—that was practically a declaration of respect.
Suddenly, the bone-deep exhaustion didn't matter quite as much.
“I’ll be there in twenty minutes,” I promised.
CHAPTER TWO
RIVEN
My mindnever fully shut down, even when exhaustion pressed on me like a heavy blanket. So when my phone buzzed against the nightstand at three in the morning, it almost came as a relief.
“Dr. Cross,” I answered, voice steady, controlled."
“This is Jason from ICU. We’ve got a multi-vehicle pileup coming in. One patient has a severe blunt force trauma, possible cardiac contusion. Could be myocardial rupture. ETA thirty minutes.”
I was out of bed before he finished speaking, crossing my room in the dark and pulling clothes from the closet by muscle memory alone.
"Who's available to scrub in with me?"
"Miller's in another case. I can try to pull someone else?—"
“Page Mireya Rosen. Tell her I need her immediately."
The line went quiet for a moment. “Dr. Cross, she just finished a thirteen-hour shift. She left about an hour ago.”
"I'm aware." I grabbed my keys and headed for the door. I paused at the end of the hallway and glanced toward my sister'sclosed bedroom door. Asleep. Safe. I pulled it shut with a soft click before heading for the elevator.
The penthouse was quiet at this hour. It usually was.
