Bay four.
Her white coat with her name on it. Her gloves. Her ward.
She is in it every day. The work doesn't end. The patients come through the door and she moves before she knows who they are because she has always moved before she knows and this has always been the gift of this room and will always be. She gets them through. She does not get all of them through. She carries the ones she doesn't with the specific weight she has carried them since a supply closet in Northern Corridor General, nineteen minutes, and she goes back to the ward. The ward is hers. It will be hers. Bettany has the clipboard. Pelton has the log. Hennen is teaching two residents the third-hour read. The teaching file has forty-three entries and will have more.
The thread goes forward.
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The bridge.
Both sid
