The ward had a rhythm.
She'd built that rhythm over six years — not through policy, not through announcements, through the specific daily practice of running a ward correctly and trusting that the people in it would do the same. They had. The rhythm was theirs now as much as hers. It would continue without her someday. She'd built it to.
Bay four at eight in the morning: Bettany at the station. The clipboard, the assessments, the specific morning efficiency of a woman who had been doing this for years and found it satisfying. Pelton at the pharmaceutical station. His log exact, his station precise, the same standard he'd maintained since before she arrived and would maintain after.
Hennen running the morning intake. She had her own way now — not Nara's way, better in some respects, the
