The paramedic said *critical* and she was already moving.
Two years at this version of herself. She'd seen everything this city produced — pack conflicts, territorial disputes, the specific violence of people who could heal fast and therefore sometimes forgot to be careful. Nothing made her flinch anymore. She snapped on her gloves the way she always had, walked into bay four the way most people walked into their own kitchens.
That part hadn't changed.
The paramedic came around the corner fast and the fluorescent light landed on the patient's face and she read the situation in a single pass: female, mid-twenties, the specific presentation of a lycan who had been injured and had been left too long before anyone found her.
She didn't know her.
That was different from the last time.
She
