Heather had barely lowered herself into the chair again when the door creaked open behind her.
She blinked, quickly wiping the dampness from her cheeks with the sleeve of her cardigan, willing herself to look composed.
Maybe it was another nurse, she thought. Someone bringing in medicine or checking a chart.
But it wasn't.
It was the doctor.
He stepped in quietly, not with the brisk energy of someone delivering news, but with a kind of practiced calm that only made
Heather feel more afraid. His hands were folded gently in front of him, and though his face tried to stay neutral, something about the set of his mouth—just a little too tight—made her heart start to race.
"The surgeon has arrived," he said.
Caius stood from his place in the corner, straightening as if the room had shifted under his feet. "I thought you said he was coming in the morning."
"He was already in the city," the doctor explained softly. "We contacted him after the scans. He cleared his schedule."
