I moved before conscious thought caught up, snatching the nugget and feeling its surprising weight settle into my palm. "You refused to treat them," I said, meeting her stunned gaze with steel in my own. "That means you don't get the payment."
The gold disappeared into my pocket before she could form a coherent protest.
Ruka's eyes found mine. He inclined his head—not a bow, but an acknowledgment—and something passed between us in that moment. Respect. Recognition. A shared understanding that some lines, once crossed, define who you really are.
Then he walked out, Ardin safe in his arms, moving through that doorway like a king leaving a kingdom that had proven itself unworthy.
I stripped off my gloves with more force than necessary, the latex snapping as I balled them up and hurled them toward the trash. They hit the rim and fell in. Perfect shot.
I didn't look back at Nadine. Didn't give her the satisfaction.
The break room door swung shut behind me with a satisfying thud, cutting off the fluorescent buzz of the ER. My hands were still trembling—adrenaline, fury, or maybe both—as I wrenched open my locker hard enough to make the whole row shudder. The metal door crashed against its neighbor with a sound that felt good. Really good.
Jacket. Bag. Keys. I grabbed everything in a chaotic sweep, not caring that my stethoscope was getting tangled with my water bottle, that my jacket was half-inside-out. Organization could go to hell. I just needed out.
The gold nugget pressed against my thigh through my scrub pocket, impossibly heavy for something so small. What was I supposed to do with it? Donate it to St. Mary's down on Fifth? The homeless shelter? Hell if I knew. But Nadine's manicured fingers would touch it over my cold, dead body.
The locker slammed shut with a bang that echoed off the tile walls, and I spun around—
Ralph stood in the doorway, arms folded across his barrel chest. Our night security guard, built like a linebacker, with kind eyes that had seen too much. He didn't speak, just watched me with an expression that made my throat tight. Not judgment. Something softer than that.
"You're a good one, Dr. Jordan," he said finally, voice low and warm.
The unexpected kindness hit me like a sucker punch. I blinked hard against the sudden burn behind my eyes. "Thanks, Ralph."
He stepped aside to let me pass, and I could have sworn I saw the ghost of a smile.
The hallway stretched before me like a gauntlet. My footsteps rang out too loud in the pre-dawn quiet, each oneannouncing my exit. At the nurses' station, Tammy and two others suddenly found their charts fascinating. By the vending machines, the night shift admins went silent mid-gossip, their eyes tracking me like I was the most interesting thing to happen all week.
Which, fair. I probably was.
In a hospital this small, in a town where everyone knew everyone's business before breakfast, the story would spread like wildfire. Dr. Bennett defied Nadine Fletcher. Dr. Bennett chose the Orcs.
Good. Let them talk. Let them all talk.
The exit doors gave way to cool morning air that tasted like freedom. I sucked in a deep breath, feeling my lungs expand, my pulse finally starting to slow. The parking lot sprawled before me, mostly empty except for a handful of cars scattered like dice across the asphalt. My truck waited in its usual spot near the back fence, and I made a beeline for it, digging through my bag for keys.
My fingers brushed the familiar heart-shaped keyring—a relic from the day I'd gotten my license—and I glanced up.
My breath caught.
Ruka stood beside my truck like a sentinel carved from shadow and muscle.
I froze mid-step, my heart slamming against my ribs. Out here in the open, without the clinical fluorescence of the ER to soften him, he was overwhelming. His shadow pooled across the asphalt like spilled ink, and for one electric moment, every lurid headline, every whispered warning, every cautionary tale about Orcs crashed through my mind in a wave of unease.
Then he shifted, and I saw it—his hands, empty and held slightly away from his body. Open. Unthreatening. The oldest peace offering in the book.
"I did not mean to startle you," he rumbled, his voice rolling across the space between us. "I wanted to speak with you before I left."
I forced air into my lungs and willed my feet forward. "Is Ardin okay? Did something happen?"
"He is well. Resting." Those yellow eyes caught the dawn light, gleaming like polished amber. "I came to thank you."
"Thank me?"
"You saved his life." Each word carried the weight of stone settling into place. "You fought for him when others would not. When others..." He paused, and something flickered across his face—pain, maybe, or bitter recognition. "When others saw only what he is, not who he is."
My throat constricted. "I'm so sorry for how you were treated. How Nadine spoke to you, how she—" The words tangled with anger and shame. "You deserved better. Ardin deserved better."