She lost a patient on a Wednesday.
Not through error — through the specific limitation of medicine, the place where correct procedure met circumstances that didn't cooperate with correct procedure. The injuries had been too extensive. The imaging had been honest. She'd done everything correctly and it hadn't been enough.
She'd been here before.
She knew this territory. The supply closet, eleven minutes, Idris Mael, the review board, the language of *correct and tragic* that was the most truthful and most insufficient phrase in medicine.
She was still in the corridor outside the bay when Bettany appeared.
Not with the clipboard. Without it.
She stood beside Nara.
Said nothing.
They stood in the corridor together for approximately three minutes.
Then Bettany went back to her station
