The next time she walked into the clinic, it wasn’t through the main entrance.
He had sent her a message with a short instruction: use the side door. No greeting. No time. Just an order.
The hallway behind the side door was different from the one she had known. It was dim, colder, quieter. The lights hummed softly, and the walls were bare. This wasn’t the public part of the clinic. This was where he did the kind of things no one could witness.
At the end of the corridor, a single room waited. Its door was already open.
He stood inside wearing the same white coat as before, but this time it wasn’t buttoned. The sleeves were rolled up to his forearms. His stethoscope was gone. The look in his eyes was sharper than it had been that first night.
“Close the door,” he said.
She did.
The c
