CHAPTER 14: The First Shift
My first clinical rotation began at the city’s public hospital—the same place Victor had paid for a new wing years ago, but where I’d never set foot as anything other than a guest. I walked in at dawn, my scrubs crisp and new, my stethoscope around my neck, and my hands steady despite the flutter in my chest. I’d told the head nurse only my name and my student status; no mention of my father, no favors asked for or expected.
For twelve hours straight, I ran. I took vitals, helped turn patients, fetched water and blankets, wrote down symptoms, and stood quiet while doctors explained things I’d only read about in books. By the end of the shift, my feet ached, my throat was dry, and my uniform was stained with coffee and antiseptic—but I’d never felt more like myself.
On my way out, I passed a small exam room where an elderly man sat alone, clutching his chest. The nurses were swamped, no one noticing him yet. I stepped inside gently. “Sir? Are you in pain?”
He looked up, breath shallow. “Just… tightness. Didn’t want to bother anyone.”
I grabbed a portable monitor, checked his pulse and blood pressure, and called for a doctor immediately. By the time they wheeled him to emergency, he was already thanking me through labored breaths.
When I got home, Victor was waiting up, a plate of warm food on the table. “How was it?”
“I helped someone,” I said, sitting down and letting out a long breath. “It wasn’t big or flashy. But it mattered.”
He nodded slowly, pride softening the hard lines of his face. “That’s what real power is, Mia. Not making people afraid of you. But making sure they don’t have to be afraid at all.”
Just then, his private line rang. He answered, listened for a moment, and set the phone down quietly.
“Someone set fire to the old warehouse district tonight,” he said. “And they left a note—signed with the black rose.”
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