And he certainly didn’t expect four CH53K King Stallion helicopters to land in the hospital parking lot, deploying a force recon unit with guns drawn, demanding one thing. Where is Angel 6? The rain in Seattle didn’t wash things clean. It just made the grime stick harder to the pavement. Inside Mercy General Hospital, the atmosphere was much the same, sticky, humid, and smelling of antiseptic and wet wool.

Jeremiah Jenkins adjusted the brace on her left leg, wincing slightly as the barometric pressure dropped. The titanium pins in her feur, always knew when a storm was coming before the weatherman did. She was 52 with graying hair pulled back in a severe nononsense bun. And she wore scrubs that were clean but two sizes too big, hiding a frame that was wiry and scarred.

Move it, Jenkins. You’re blocking the hallway. The voice snapped like a whip. It belonged to Dr. Nathaniel Bennett, the hospital’s newly appointed chief of trauma. Bennett was 35, a prodigy from John’s Hopkins, with a ego that barely fit through the double doors. He had perfectly quafted hair, a jawline that could cut glass, and a deepseated disdain for anything he considered inefficient. Jeremiah didn’t flinch.

She simply sidestepped her left leg, dragging slightly with that rhythmic thump slide that the younger nurses mimicked in the breakroom. My apologies, doctor,” Jeremiah said, her voice grally and low. She continued restocking the crash cart, her hands moving with a speed that contradicted her slow gate.

“We have a multi-vehicle collision inbound.” Bennett barked, addressing the room, but glaring at Jeremiah. “I need my A team. I don’t need dead weight. Jenkins, go man the intake desk, or better yet, go organize the supply closet in the basement. Just get off the floor.” A few of the younger residents snickered. Nurse Claraara, a kind but timid girl, fresh out of nursing school, looked sympathetic, but quickly looked away when Bennett turned his gaze on her.

“Doctor,” Jeremiah said, pausing. The intake desk is fully staffed. And if it’s a multi-vehicle pileup on the I-5 during this storm, you’re going to need experienced triage nurses. I’ve handled mass casualty events before. Bennett laughed a cold, sharp sound. Mass casualty? What a bus breakdown in 1990. Look at you, Jeremiah.

You can barely walk to the cafeteria without getting winded. This is trauma. This is speed. You are a liability. If a patient bleeds out because you couldn’t run to the blood bank fast enough, that’s on me. So, I’m giving you a direct order. Stay back. Stay out of my trauma bay. Jeremiah held his gaze. Her eyes were a pale, icy blue eyes that had seen things Bennett couldn’t even imagine in his nightmares.

For a split second, something dangerous flashed behind them a steel door slamming shut. “Understood, doctor,” she said softly. She turned and limped away, the thump slide, thump slide echoing in the sudden silence of the corridor. “I don’t know why HR hasn’t forced her to retire,” Bennett muttered to his head nurse loud enough for Jeremiah to hear.

She’s a relic. Jeremiah walked to the nurse’s station near the entrance. She sat down heavily, rubbing her knee. The pain was a dull roar today, a reminder of a ridge line in the Kuran Gaul Valley, a place dirtier and bloodier than this pristine hospital. She pulled a small battered Nokia flip phone from her pocket, a dinosaur of a device that she wasn’t supposed to have on the floor.

She checked the screen. No signal. She slipped it back. “Don’t let him get to you, Jeremiah,” Claraara whispered, coming over to drop off a file. “He’s just stressed.” “He’s not stressed, Claraara,” Jeremiah said, her eyes fixed on the rain lashed windows. “He’s untested. There’s a difference.

” “He says you used to be an army nurse,” Claraara asked. Is that where you hurt your leg? Jeremiah looked at the girl. Something like that. A training accident. Fell off a truck. It was the lie she had told for 15 years. The lie was safer. If she told them the truth that the leg was shattered by a sniper’s 7.62 mm round while she was carrying a Navy Seal on her back through a minefield, they wouldn’t believe her.

or worse, the wrong people would find out she was out of the shadows. Attention all personnel. The PA system crackled the voice tents. Code orange. Mass casualty incident. ETA 2 minutes. Prepare for heavy trauma. Jeremiah stood up. Training accident or not, she was a nurse and she knew the sound of a storm when she heard it.

This wasn’t just a car crash. The sirens wailing in the distance soundeddesperate. The double doors burst open, letting in a gust of wind and the chaotic noise of the city. Paramedics rushed in, wheeling stretchers soaked in rain and blood. “What do we have?” Bennett shouted, snapping gloves onto his hands….