As he tries to refocus on his work, Rafael’s last visit with Mrs. Gambo flickers through his mind, and a horrifying possibility follows.
His fingers tremble as he pulls up her pre-op, praying he’s wrong.
But there it is—his name next to the approval section.
Rafael authorized the very procedure that killed her.
An ache settles beneath his ribs.
He followed protocols. The system approved every step. VitaCorp and her family wouldn’t blame him.
But in the assessment, she mentioned persistent headaches and pain around her eyes. The complaint was flagged, yet the system cleared her, noting she could be stressed or simply tired. Mrs. Gambo even confirmed she was losing sleep over her new promotion. He trusted the system and her judgment.
But something doesn’t sit right.
Did he really miss the warning signs? Or is this more than a singular mistake? He runs a search for her symptoms, the surgery, and reported deaths.
Over fifty cases matching all three criteria appear across Nova City.
He sucks in a breath, and for a moment, the interface blurs out of focus.
Rafael can’t stay silent. Not this time. Not when the same system everyone trusts might be killing patients.
“Lian,” Rafael calls out. When she doesn’t respond, he raises his voice. “Lian! You need to see this.”
She rushes over and peers at his display. “What am I looking at?”
“All these patients—they all had the same symptoms as Mrs. Gambo in the pre-assessment, then died from the same surgery. All approved by the system.” He meets her eyes, speaking low. “We’re killing people, Lian.”
Lian exhales, crossing her arms. “We’renot killing anyone, Raffy.” Her expression tightens into something cold. “They signed consent forms. They knew the risks. They knewwe used automated systems. And honestly? The beta-gen upgrade probably would’ve failed too. At least this way their families get a payout, and VitaCorp frees up a bed.”
While Lian returns to her chair, Rafael remains frozen.
It’s as if he’s finally seeing her for the first time.
This isn’t the professional detachment they were taught in nursing school. This is complete disregard dressed up as protocol. He stiffens in his seat.
Any other day, he would have stayed quiet.
“How can you say that?” He’s almost shouting. “These are people—patients who trusted us to heal them, not let them die.”
She swivels in her chair, mouth agape. Shock disappears with an eye roll. “Come on, Raffy. Don’t start acting like your sister. You’ve been here six years. You know how this works. Downtown patients get priority, we get the leftovers, and slum dwellers—well, you know…”
Bile burns in Rafael’s throat. He’s seen this side of Lian before: dropping friends once they’re no longer useful, siding with supervisors when they’re wrong, canceling plans to spend time with a new temporary boyfriend.
And she’s not the only one. Divya dumped her ex after his demotion. Gavin dated former patients to get promoted.
For years, he told himself none of it meant anything, that his friends were just stressed or he was overreacting. Now he stands here listening to Lian shrug off people’s deaths, and the excuses sound hollow even in his own head.
Is this how Midtown has always been?
Shreveport wasn’t like that.
Pixie checked on him without being asked while Kane talked about protecting the neighborhood. Echo pulled him throughthe marketplace as if she was introducing him to family.
Rafael didn’t know what to call it then. He simply knew it was different.
And yet, Rafael walked away from all that. And a man he loved. All for safety, and people who look at him like this.