**ISABELLA'S POV**

Around noon I was still in scrubs, hair stuck to my neck with sweat, stumbling out of OR 3 after helping Dr. Müller with a total mess of an appendectomy. The patient's gut had perforated – pus everywhere, stench thick enough to taste – and I'd held retractors for forty minutes straight until my arms felt like they'd been twisted in a vice. I scrubbed out at the sink, water hot enough to sting my skin, trying to breathe through the ache that'd settled deep in my chest.

Dew was next to me, sleeves rolled up high, washing his hands too. His pager buzzed and he glanced at...