PART 2 – THE NURSE WHO WASN’T SUPPOSED TO BE THERE
A nurse stepped inside.
Middle-aged. Calm. Too calm.
Her expression didn’t change as she looked at Molly’s chart, then at the monitors. She didn’t acknowledge Ethan right away, like he was part of the furniture.
“Routine check,” she said softly.
Her voice carried a strange flatness, like she had said those exact words a thousand times without meaning them once.
I stayed behind the curtain, heart steady but alert.
Military habit.
Observe first. React later.
The nurse walked around the bed, checking IV lines. She adjusted nothing. Just touched things lightly, as if confirming they were still there.
Then she spoke again.
“Has she shown any improvement since the last adjustment?”
The last adjustment.
My mind immediately flagged it.
There had been three medication changes in four days. None of them were clearly explained. Every time I asked, I got vague answers.
Ethan shifted slightly in his chair.
Too sharply.
The nurse’s eyes flicked toward him.
Only for a second.
But it was enough.
A pause.
A calculation.
Then she smiled.
Not warmly.
Professionally.
“Actually,” she said, glancing down at Molly’s chart again, “this case has been… unusually responsive to the trial protocol.”
Trial protocol.
I felt something tighten in my chest.
There had been no mention of any trial.
Ethan’s breathing changed.
Faster.
The nurse continued, almost casually.
“It’s rare we see such stable neurological suppression in a patient this young. The behavioral readings have been consistent across all observation periods.”
Behavioral readings.
My fingers curled against the curtain.
This wasn’t treatment language.
This was observation language.
Like Molly wasn’t a patient.
She was data.
Ethan suddenly spoke, voice cracked.
“Don’t—”
The nurse turned toward him slowly.
And smiled again.
“Don’t what, Ethan?”
May you like
My blood turned cold.
She knew his name.
