“Enough!” Olivia cut her off, humiliated and furious. She was the agent Luna. How dare a healer speak to her like this?
“Your body needs rest, not another pregnancy,” Healer Amanda said, putting away the report and printing out a prescription.
“Take this medicine on schedule. It’ll help your body recover over time. But be warned-don’t try to get pregnant during this period. If you do, no one, not even I, will be able to save you.”
Olivia snatched the prescription and stormed out, still furious. She stalked down the hospital highway, fuming.
Julian didn’t show her any affection, and Olivia had quickly become bitter, now elevated by the fact that Amber had reappeared, somehow alive after Olivia’s attempt at taking her out. This couldn’t be the answer. Healer Amanda had always seemed reluctant to help Olivia, despite the money Julian offered to find a cure.
An idea struck Olivia, and she turned toward Head Healer Eric’s office.
After Amber’s “death,” Julian had asked Olivia to take over Luna duties. Within Thorn Pack, her status was as good as Luna, which meant she also had influence in the hospital. She intended to use it.
“Head Healer,” Olivia said when he’d let her in, “I’m so sorry that we didn’t trust your expertise, bringing in that outsider to treat me instead. I don’t believe she is working in the best interest of the Alpha or Thorn Pack.”
“I’m listening,” Head Healer Eric responded, leaning towards her from behind his desk. He was obviously flattered by receiving an apology from someone as influential in the pack as her.
“I want you to find a way to sabotage her, Head Healer. You will be forever in my gratitude.” Olivia leaned in now, her voice a purr.
“If you succeed, I can secure Thorn Pack Hospital a much more sizable budget.”
Head Healer Eric agreed, shaking Olivia’s hand from across the table.
He’d never liked that Healer Amanda, anyway.
Amber’s POV
I had a critical operation scheduled. The patient was an elderly noble who suffered from a brain tumor.
While werewolves had self-healing abilities, they couldn’t heal tumors themselves. Tumors were the result of overactive immune responses, and because werewolves’ immune systems were incredibly strong, illnesses related to immune systems often hit them incredibly hard.
We’d discussed the case during an appointment in my office the week before, then scheduled the operation as soon as we possibly could. Surgery was the only option to treat the patient, but even full removal didn’t guarantee that the tumor wouldn’t return. This threat was exacerbated by how close the tumor was to healthy brain tissue.
Total resection risked damaging critical brain functions.
The patient trusted me, but his family had doubts. I managed to convince them that the surgery was the right move, and we’d finalized the schedule for today.
In the OR, Noah, who’d proven to be an excellent assistant, handled all of the preoperative preparations, or pre-op prep, getting the tools we’d need ready to try and ensure the most ease possible. I waited for the anesthesiologist to come sedate the patient.
While she did, I used my healing aura to calm the patient.
Werewolf bodies were so powerful that standard anesthesia wasn’t fully effective.
When everything had been properly prepped, I began the surgery, opening the patient’s skull. I began the slow, delicate process of removing the tumor, careful with each and every move. Precision was key, especially when working with the brain.
Six hours passed by as I worked carefully at the tumor. My body became drenched in sweat, but inside I was calm. Nothing in the world existed besides me and the patient. I couldn’t think of Julian or Alice or Olivia. Just me, and the tumor I targeted.
I managed to remove it completely, all brain tissue and blood vessels undamaged by the operation.
Noah cheered beside me. It was his first time witnessing this exact procedure, and I remembered the feeling of seeing that kind of success for the first time.
I reconstructed the skull and handed the final step, scalp suturing, over to Noah. The task was routine and well within his ability.
I watched carefully as he began stitching up the patient’s scalp. About halfway through, the needle snapped, falling into the open skull.
Noah froze and suddenly looked up at me. I saw sweat dripping down his forehead.
Third-Person POV
Head Healer Eric appeared outside the OR, approaching the patient’s family with confidence.
“I have bad news,” he said, and the family gasped. “Healer Amanda embezzled funds from our hospital. She is using substandard surgical tools as a result of her embezzlement, as she didn’t spend the appropriate funds.”
The family began to murmur between each other.
“A batch of equipment,” Head Healer Eric continued, his voice full of righteous anger, “that was meant to be discarded, has gone missing. Just now, I discovered the packaging in Healer Amanda’s office. This is packaging from the exact same defective batch.
“These tools are known to snap mid-surgery, potentially resulting in failure or other lasting complications.”
The family panicked. Despite nearby orderlies attempting to stop them from disrupting such an intensive operation, the family began pounding on the doors to the OR, demanding that Healer Amanda stop the surgery.
Noah exited the OR, his hands bloodied, to attempt to calm the family down. Seeing their relative’s blood on his hands, though, only convinced them that he’d butchered their family member. They persisted with even more urgency.
Just then, Healer Amanda opened the doors. She was spotless, composed.
“The surgery was a success,” she said calmly.
The surgical bed was wheeled out behind me. I held up a broken suture needle and looked straight at Head Healer Eric.
“This is the needle I used today,” I said, holding up the broken suture needle for everyone to see.
“See?” Head Healer Eric said. “She did use defective equipment! This kind of thing is strictly prohibited!”
The patient’s family started to panic, understandably. If anything happened to the patient, I would be held responsible. Doubts and whispers filled the room, questioning both my skills and my character.
Irritation bubbled inside me.
“Medical equipment procurement isn’t my responsibility,” I said calmly. “That’s your job, Healer Eric. The tools I received this morning weren’t even from the batch you’re talking about. I wouldn’t know which are defective or not. Isn’t quality control supposed to be handled by the supplier-meaning, you? Why were those defective tools kept around at all?”
Head Healer Eric snapped. “I just hadn’t gotten around to discarding them.”
“And where were those defective tools stored?” I asked, irritation building in my voice.
“In my office.”
“According to hospital regulations,” I continued, “defective medical tools should be stored in the supply room, clearly labeled, and kept separately to prevent mix-ups. Why did you keep them in your office? Or were you planning to use them for something else? Maybe reselling them?”
The patient’s family murmured anxiously, now staring at Head Healer Eric instead of Noah and I.
“I have proof your assistant was in my office,” Head Healer Eric argued. “Maybe he took them on your orders.”
I was sure to keep my voice even and calm, despite my frustration at the misplaced accusations.
“Noah was in your office this afternoon-but he was delivering medical records. You’re welcome to check the security cameras in my office to see whether he tampered with any surgical equipment.”
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