Sasha spun around and saw Alexine Harrison walking toward her, hands in her hoodie pockets, short hair brushing her cheek, kicking a stone with her sneaker. She grinned wide, mischievously.

"Girl," Alexine said, shaking her head. "You sing like an angel who's tired of heaven."

Sasha tried to hide her smile and she waved her hand.

"Oh, stop it, Alexine. You're being silly."

Alexine smirked. "Silly? Me? Never. I'm a serious DJ student. Very serious. I know what I mean just like I mix the beat."

Sasha laughed, though she still looked a little embarrassed. "You sound ridiculous."

"Ridiculous and talented," Alexine said, winking. "But not as talented as you. You keep singing like that, and you'll make the stars shine up in the sky."

Sasha shook her head, trying not to smile. "Please, Alexine... you don't have to say all that."

"I do," Alexine said. "Because it's true. And because if I don't hype you up, who will?" She pointed a thumb toward the school building. "Anyway, let's go. Everyone's already inside. If we take too long, Mr. Gray will start the lesson without us."

Sasha blinked. "Already? I thought we were early."

"Nope," Alexine said. "You were too busy singing sad songs like a tragic movie heroine."

Sasha picked up her bag, rolling her eyes but smiling shyly. "Fine, fine. Let's go before he gives us that long lecture again."

Alexine bumped Sasha's shoulder gently. "That's the spirit. Come on."

They walked toward the classroom side by side; Sasha still thinking about her father, and Alexine humming a beat under her breath.

After some few seconds, they pushed open the door to Studio Room 3, and energetic sounds greeted them; notes from guitars, someone playing the keyboard, someone was on drums, and a few students were humming as they warmed up their voices.

The room itself looked like a place made for young artists:

posters of famous singers on the walls, shelves stacked with beat pads and headphones, colorful lights were around the ceiling, and a big whiteboard covered with music notes from yesterday's lesson. A few amps buzzed in the background. Someone was tuning a guitar near the window. Someone else was adjusting a microphone stand.

The students looked the part too; loose hoodies, chain necklaces, paint on their jeans, hair dyed in strange colors. Some boys tapped rhythms on their desks. A girl with purple braids stretched her fingers for piano warm-up exercises.

Sasha and Alexine slipped into their seats near the middle row.

Alexine immediately pulled out her DJ tools; a small portable controller, two mini turntable pads, and a pair of foldable headphones.

She tapped the pads lightly, testing the beats, bobbing her head as if someone was playing her favorite track.

Then the door opened again.

Dylan Lenard stepped in.

He was tall, lean, with messy brown hair that looked like he had just run his hand through it. There was always a hint of drum dust on his clothes. He wore his usual black wristbands; the ones he used during practice. Everyone knew him as the boy who could make the drums scream, or even worse.

He walked straight toward Alexine.

His serious expression changed when he reached her desk. Without saying a word, he slipped a folded note onto her palm.

Alexine blinked, surprised. "Uh... okay? What's this?" she murmured.

Sasha leaned closer, curious.

Alexine whispered, "Dylan never writes notes. Something's up."

She unfolded the small piece of paper, eager to read what it was all about.

Her eyebrows shot up.

"It says, I have something to show you."

Sasha smiled. "Maybe it's something romantic."

Alexine snorted. "Knowing him? It's probably a new drumstick or something loud enough to break my ears."

Before Sasha could reply, the classroom door opened again.

Mr. Lucas Gray walked in.

He was in his mid-forties, and he carried a bundle of music sheets, a digital tablet, and a long conductor stick under his arm. His glasses slid slightly down his nose as he looked around the room.

"Good morning, class."

"Good morning, Mr. Gray," the students said in unison.

Mr. Gray nodded. "Excellent energy today. I hope you keep it that way."

He set his things on the desk and clapped once. "We're starting a new project."

The room grew quiet.

"This time," he continued, lifting his tablet, "you'll work in groups. Each group will create one full song with vocals, instruments, and DJ elements. And you'll perform it live at the end of the month."

A few students gasped. Someone whispered, "Oh, wow."

Dylan raised his hand. "Sir, can we pick our own group members?"

Mr. Gray smiled. "Yes. But choose wisely. You need balance. A weak team will sink itself."

Another student asked, "Can we mix genres? Like pop with EDM?"

Mr. Gray nodded. "Absolutely. As long as it sounds intentional."

He scanned the room and stopped at Sasha.

"Miss Smith," he said, adjusting his glasses. "As a vocalist, what do you think is the first step your team should take?"

Sasha sat straighter, her fingers brushing her notebook. "We should find a key that fits all parts of the song. Something the instruments can support and the DJ can work with. Once we choose the key, it's easier to shape the melody."

Mr. Gray gave a small approving smile. "Correct. Very good."

A soft ripple of murmurs spread across the room, admiring.

Then he turned to the rest of the class. "And what must you do before mixing beats with live instruments?"

There was silence.

A few students turned their heads around, some shrugged their shoulders.

No one answered.

Then Alexine's hand shot up.

Mr. Gray raised an eyebrow. "Yes, Miss Harrison?"

Alexine said confidently, "We should make a tempo map. If we don't agree on the tempo, the DJ beats won't match the instruments, and the song will sound messy."

Mr. Gray's face lit up. "Exactly. Perfect answer."

A boy at the back whispered, "Whoa... she knew that?"

Another girl nudged her friend and said, "Alexine's smarter than she looks."

The room came alive after that; students chatting, testing instruments, tapping drum rhythms, and adjusting headphone wires. The energy shifted, everyone was excited and they were ready to create something big.

Sasha smiled at Alexine, who smirked proudly.

"See?" Alexine whispered. "We're going to crush this project."

Somewhere else in the city that afternoon, Charlotte Holland, a forty-nine years old woman, sat straight on the sofa in her living room with her glasses on reading a newspaper.

Her eyes froze on a headline:

"POLICE RAID OLD BORDER ROUTE - DRUG CARTEL ACTIVITY LINKED TO A SYNDICATE."

She gripped the newspaper tightly. A small breath escaped her lips. She trembled, as her memories took her back to her late husband, Damian Cruz, who was killed in a car crash seven years ago while running from the police.

She shut her eyes, and the living room faded.

She saw herself at 19, laughing in a summer dress, leaning against Damian's motorcycle. She remembered his wild smile that was too charming for his own good. She thought it was love. She thought she had found her soul mate, the one she was meant to be with.

At 20, she married him.

She could still hear her father, Erick Holland, yelling in the kitchen that night:

"Charlotte, that boy has darkness in him! He lies. He hides things. You will not marry him."

Her mother, Chalice, had cried beside him, speaking in a low voice:

"Please listen to your father... we can see what you don't."

But young Charlotte had lifted her chin, she had already made up her mind.

"You don't understand him! He loves me. I'm going to marry him with or without your approval."

She remembered throwing clothes into a small bag, running out the door, and climbing onto Damian's motorcycle. She never saw the look on her father's face again.

Three months after, she sent a letter saying she had married him.

Erick Holland died with a heart attack, the doctor said.

A year later, Chalice died too with anxiety.

Charlotte had cried on Damian's chest for days.

Damian had only wrapped an arm around her and said:

"What's done is done. Let's focus on each other."

She believed it.

She wanted to believe him.

Soon after, Maverick was born, her beautiful boy and her bundle of joy.

When Maverick was three, Charlotte saw Damian beating a man in their kitchen. She saw guns in the basement, money in black suitcases, and strange men coming and going at night. When she asked him about it, Damian would always say it was business.

Then he began using her.

He made her carry sealed packets in her clothes, hide cash for him, lie to police, and worst of all... swallow drugs when they needed to cross a checkpoint.

It burned her throat.

It made her sick for days.

But she did it because she still loved him... or maybe because she was too afraid.

Then she became pregnant again.

Damian didn't care, not even for a second.

One night, when she told him she wasn't strong enough to swallow anything, he grabbed her by the arm, and his face was twisted with anger.

"You think I'm with you for love? You're here to work. That's it. Now do your job."

His words made her remember her father's words, maybe he saw something she couldn't. Right there, she knew she had to leave or she'd die.

One hot afternoon, the house smelled of oil and gunpowder. Damian turned his back to pick up the drug packets from the table. Charlotte saw a metal bar leaning against the wall... something the men used to fix car tires.

She swallowed hard knowing it was time, and she grabbed it.

She swung with her all strength and hit Damian in the head. He dropped with a grunt and lay unconscious on the floor. She gasped, tears rushing down her face. But she forced herself to kneel beside him. She slid her hand into his pocket, fingers trembling, and took the car keys.

Then she looked for Maverick.

He was outside... only four years old, holding a small wooden pistol while two of Damian's men showed him how to aim.

Her heart skipped a beat, she knew she couldn't take him.

Not with armed men surrounding her little boy. Her stomach twisted. She placed a hand over it, over the child growing inside her.

She whispered, to herself:

"I'm sorry, baby... I'll come back someday."

She felt like she was tearing in two, as she was leaving Maverick behind. She returned inside, grabbed Damian's wallet, wiped her face, and walked out with calm steps, forcing a small smile.

"Going out?" one of the men asked, raising a brow.

Charlotte waved lightly.

"Just for a short drive," she said.

She got in the car, closed the door and she started the engine.

Her hands shook on the steering wheel, but she didn't look back.

It was a memory she had carried for twenty-six years, something she would never forget. She folded the newspaper slowly. She had rebuilt everything; her identity, her life, and tomorrow, her daughter Channel, the child she carried during that escape, would graduate from college. She had told her the story, and she had let her grow with the surname of Holland, as she had nothing to do with the 'Cruz' family, though Damian was Channel's biological father.

Charlotte smiled, for the woman she had become and the hardships she went through. She couldn't forget the son she had left behind, Maverick, and she wondered if he was still alive with all these years that had passed.

She was about to stand and went through her email when the door opened with a soft creak.

Channel stepped in, carrying her handbag. Her face lit up with surprise.

"Mom? You're home early." Channel blinked, almost laughing. "I thought you'd still be at the office."

Charlotte lowered the newspaper, smiling.

"I came home to rest a bit. And tomorrow is a big day, remember?" She gave her daughter a proud look. "My girl is graduating."

Channel smiled, a little proud.

"Yeah... I still can't believe it's tomorrow."

Charlotte patted the seat beside her, and Channel walked closer and sat next to her. Charlotte reached out and touched her daughter's hand gently.

"And after you graduate, you can start working with me," Charlotte said. "I've already prepared a position for you in one of the companies. You'll learn fast. You're smart."

Channel leaned in and hugged her tightly. She tried to laugh, tried to sound excited.

"Mom... thank you really. That means everything to me."

But Charlotte felt her daughter's shoulders trembling. Channel's smile was fake. Her eyes darted away. Something was wrong.

Charlotte pulled back a little.

"Channel? What is it? Did something happen?"

Channel held her breath, she rubbed her palms on her jeans.

"Mom... I don't know how to say this, but..." She swallowed. "Something I heard yesterday at Seven Skies... I can't stop thinking about it."

Charlotte's face grew still.

"Go on," she said.

Channel looked down at her hands.

"I heard some guys talking... and they said Maverick Cruz is back in the city."

Charlotte froze.

Channel continued, her voice trembled:

"And... and they said he's looking for a woman with the surname Holland."

Charlotte felt like she had stopped breathing. For a moment, she didn't blink, she was scared.

"He's... looking for me?" she whispered.

Channel looked down, searching for the right words to say.

"Mom, I don't know what it means. I don't know if it's good or bad. What if he's like Damian? What if he wants something else? What if he's dangerous?"

She paused before she continued.

"Why now? Why did he come back? What does he want? Does he even know the truth? What if he's angry you left?"

Charlotte reached out and held her daughter's cheek gently, trying to calm her down.

She spoke calmly, even though her heart was beating fast.

"Listen, sweetheart..." She took a slow breath. "If Maverick is back... then maybe he's finally looking for his real family. Maybe he wants answers. Maybe he wants peace."

Channel shook her head slightly.

"Or maybe he wants revenge. Maybe he became like Damian. Mom, you know what that world is like."

Charlotte nodded.

"If he became a criminal... then it's my fault," she said quietly. "I left him behind. I did what I had to do to save myself and protect the child I was carrying."

She took a deep breath.

"But he's still my son. And he's your brother. If he's looking for us... I won't run from him, I already run from his father."

Channel studied her mother's face and sighed.

"I understand... I think."

Then she added: "I just don't know what he wants from us."

Charlotte squeezed her hand.

"We'll face it when it comes. For now, focus on your graduation. Be proud of yourself. Be strong. You might need that strength soon."

Channel nodded slowly.

Inside, she was asking herself questions she couldn't speak aloud:

What does my brother look like now?

What is he capable of?

And why is he searching for us after all these years?

She stood up.

"I'll go get ready for tomorrow," she said quietly.

"Alright, darling," Charlotte replied.

Channel walked out of the room.

When the door closed, Charlotte let out a long breath she had been holding. She looked back at the newspaper but couldn't focus on the words.

She whispered to herself:

"Maverick... my son... after all these years..."

Her hands trembled slightly as she folded the paper.

"Please... let this be a new beginning... not another war."

She leaned back on the couch, her eyes full of old memories she wished she could forget.

Back at Melody Lane Music School, Mr. Gray clapped his hands once.

"Alright, that's it for today," he said, smiling at the class. Lines of tired but excited students looked up from their instruments. "Remember, music isn't about being perfect. It's about being honest. Practice your scales, listen with your heart, and don't be late tomorrow."

He gave them a playful glare at the last sentence, making a few students laugh. Then he packed his sheet music, took his tablet and walked out. The students followed, chattering as they filed through the door.

Sasha walked out with her notebook hugged to her chest. She spotted Alexine adjusting her headphones and rushed to catch up.

"Hey, wait!" Sasha said breathlessly.

Alexine turned, smiling. "You okay? Mr. Gray almost made you play solo today."

Sasha groaned. "Don't remind me. I swear he wants to see me panic."

"Or he knows you're good," Alexine teased. "Come on, you hit the notes fine."

Sasha shrugged, but her small smile gave her away. They walked side by side down the sidewalk, talking about chords, melody lines, and how Mr. Gray always made everything sound ten times harder than it was.

At the bakery corner, they split ways.

"See you tomorrow!" Sasha waved.

"Yep! Don't forget to practice!" Alexine called back.

She walked alone now, music playing through her headphones. She was halfway down Oak Street when she heard someone calling her name.

"Alexine! Wait... Alexine!"

She turned, confused, until she saw Dylan sprinting toward her, waving a folded paper in the air.

He stopped in front of her, breathing hard.

"You walk too fast," he complained, pushing back his messy hair.

She raised an eyebrow. "Or you run too slow."

He grinned, then handed her a note. "I wanted to show you something."

She unfolded it, expecting homework. Instead, her eyes widened.

It was a printed poster: Singing Auditions - This Saturday at Seven Skies Club. Winner gets a prize and becomes the club's weekend singer.

"What's this?" she asked, looking up.

"That's what I wanted you to see," Dylan said, excited. "I thought you should try."

Her mouth opened slightly. For a second, she looked excited, then her smile faded.

"Dylan... I don't sing," she said quietly. "I do DJ stuff. I mix tracks. I'm not..." she shook her head, "I'm not a singer."

"You can be," he said without hesitation. "Singing isn't some magical, impossible thing. You have rhythm. You can rhyme. You can do it."

"No," she insisted. "Sasha should do this. She sings better. She actually sings."

"But I want you to try," he said. "Alexine, you're capable of anything. Don't sell yourself short."

She crossed her arms, half annoyed. "You're being ridiculous."

"Maybe," he said, smiling, "but I'm still right."

She sighed. She knew from his stubborn face that arguing was useless.

"Fine. I'll think about it," she muttered.

"Good." He looked proud, like he'd won a battle.

As they continued walking, Dylan asked suddenly, "So... your parents cool with you being into music? Or did they want something else for you?"

Alexine laughed. "My dad? He wanted me to be a detective like him. He was so sure of it. Then he found out I liked music more, and he... well, he was disappointed." She shrugged with a sad smile. "But my mom? She runs a restaurant. She told me to follow my heart. Says she's fine if I become the first female DJ in the city."

"That's actually really cool," Dylan said, eyes shining with encouragement. "And you will be. But... don't forget the auditions on Saturday."

She groaned. "I won't forget. Trust me."

They reached the store where their paths split.

"See you tomorrow," Dylan said, giving her a small wave.

"Yeah. Bye," she replied before heading off.

Walking home alone again, she held the poster in both hands.

Her eyebrows pulled together, and she bit her bottom lip.

"I have to tell Sasha," she whispered to herself. "She'll win this thing. She has to."

The wind picked up, rustling the paper. Alexine folded it carefully and kept walking a little faster, already planning how to tell her best friend about the auditions.

Later that evening at Seven Skies Club, Julian Styles sat alone at a small corner table. His drink sat untouched. His eyes kept scanning the room; front door, bar counter, tables, dance floor... over and over, like a man waiting on a ghost. His foot tapped under the table, not to the rhythm of the music, but out of impatience.

His phone buzzed.

Julian lifted it quickly, as if expecting the message.

Message:

Have you seen her?

He typed back quickly.

Julian:

No sign of her. Either she's not coming, or she left early again. She was here yesterday with friends... didn't stay long. She walked out alone.

He sent it. He leaned back in his chair, eyes drifting to the door again.

There was another buzz.

This time, a photo came with the message, and it was Channel Holland, smiling in the picture with her curls dropping on her shoulders.

Message:

Don't forget the face. She's Channel Holland. In case you forget. Contact me the second she walks in. My men are ready.

Julian swallowed and zoomed in on the photo. Her face filled the screen. He studied it closely, and he smirked.

"Looking forward to seeing you soon, Channel," he murmured under his breath. "You must be important to him."

He locked his phone and set it face-down on the table. His eyes returned to the door, waiting patient for her arrival.

The night went on with music pounding and people dancing, while Julian waited for the girl who didn't know she was already listed in the book of danger.

Meanwhile, Maverick Cruz was in his apartment, lit only by the small lamp standing on the table. He sat on the edge of his couch with elbows on his knees. The room was quiet, yet in his head he could still hear the same old voice.

His father's voice.

"Your mother is dead, Maverick. She's not coming back. Forget her."

Maverick closed his eyes. The memory stabbed him in the heart like it always did. He remembered himself as a small boy, crying until his throat hurt, waiting by the door every night.

Waiting for a woman who never walked in.

He swallowed hard, forcing the tears back down. He hadn't cried since he was a kid.

"She could have said goodbye," he muttered under his breath. "I could have at least seen her body."

Damian Cruz was dead now; killed in a police chase seven years ago. Maverick had buried him, but he wasn't convinced with his father's death. He was looking for answers, he believed someone in their circle had betrayed Damian to the police.

He leaned back and grabbed his phone from the table. His thumb slid across the screen until Channel Holland's picture appeared again.

She was smiling, and she looked beautiful. But one thing stood out to him; she had Damian's eyes. Damian's jaw, and she looked just like him.

Maverick stared at the photo for a long moment.

"How can you look like him?" he whispered. "Who are you to have his eyes? Why do you have his smile?"

He narrowed his eyes.

"I'll find out," he said quietly. "I just need one thing... your DNA. After that, I'll know the truth."

He stood up, walked to the window, and looked down at the dark city streets. This was his world now.

He was the leader of his father's gang; the Cruz Syndicate, and his men were waiting for his next move.

Maverick reached for his jacket, slipped it on, and ran a hand through his dark hair.

"Time to work," he said to himself.

He put the phone in his pocket, and Channel's picture was still open on the screen. He turned off the lamp, leaving the room in darkness, and walked out the door.

That night, the Adams house was quiet. The lights in the bedroom were dim, soft enough for resting but bright enough so Ava could watch over Ian. She lay on her bed, facing the hospital bed across the room. Ian lay there, stiff and still, his body weak from the severe stroke he had suffered months earlier. The hospital bed had high metal rails on both sides to keep him safe. Beside him stood a small oxygen monitor, its green numbers glowing in the dark. A feeding pump hummed gently, sending liquid food through a tube taped to the side of Ian's face. A suction machine sat nearby, used whenever he struggled to swallow.

He looked thinner than before, his cheeks slightly sunken. His right hand twitched sometimes, the only part of him that still made tiny movements. His eyes were half-open, staring blankly at the ceiling.

Ava watched him, she couldn't sleep.

A memory crept into her mind. She remembered the first day she met Ian years ago at the hospital café. He had walked up to her with that bright smile he always carried, holding two cups of coffee.

"You look like someone who works too hard," he had joked, placing one cup in front of her. "Let me fix that."

Ava had laughed, shy and surprised. He had leaned forward, brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, and said, "One day, I'm going to marry you... just wait."

And she had believed him. She had imagined a house filled with laughter, two or three kids, weekend trips, birthdays, holidays... the simple, sweet life she thought they would share.

But the stroke had taken all of that away, until all she could do was hope... that one day Ian would open his mouth and say something again. Hope that he would stand... that they would be a real couple, not a patient and a tired doctor-wife trying to be strong.

A soft beep from the monitor pulled her back. The numbers changed a little, telling her Ian was awake again... or unable to sleep.

Ava whispered to herself, almost like a prayer, "Maybe tomorrow will be better."

She got up from her bed and walked over to Ian. His eyes moved slowly toward her, and for a second they softened, like he was trying to recognize her.

Ava gave him a small smile.

"It's okay," she murmured. "I'm here."

She reached for the small bookshelf beside the hospital bed and took out a romantic novel; the one she used to read on lonely nights before she met him. She opened it to the page she had left last night.

"Let's finish this chapter," she said softly.

Ian's eyelids fluttered, he breathed slowly as he listened to her voice. Ava sat on the chair next to his bed and began to read calmly.

Minutes passed. Then an hour.

Ian's eyes finally closed, and Ava gently closed the book and brushed her fingers across his hand.

"Good night, Ian," she whispered.

She stood up, walked back to her bed, and lay down. Her body relaxed at last, seeing him sleeping peacefully.

Within minutes, she drifted into sleep too, and the faint noise from the machines was the only sound in the room.

The following morning, Ava Adams woke up to the ringing sound of her alarm. The room was still dim, only touched by the early morning light that slipped through the curtains. She blinked slowly, pushing herself up on her bed. Across the room, Ian lay on his hospital bed, the machines beside him giving off soft beeps.

Ava rubbed her eyes, then stood and walked to him.

His face was calm, but his chest rose unevenly, guided by the breathing support. The rails on the sides of the bed were up, and the small feeding pump blinked its green lights. A thin oxygen tube ran under his nose.

Ava placed her hand on his arm gently.

"Good morning, my love," she whispered, forcing a smile. "Let's start your day."

She picked up the small cup of morning medication, crushed a few pills and mixed in water. She lifted Ian slightly and helped him swallow the medicine.

"You're doing so well," she murmured, brushing his hair back. "One day... you'll get better. I know you will."

Ian blinked slowly, as if answering her. His fingers twitched against the blanket.

Ava checked the monitor numbers, nodding to herself. Everything seemed stable for now.

She sighed. "Okay... let me get ready."

Ava walked to the bathroom. She washed up, brushed her teeth, and fixed her hair neatly. She didn't look at herself too long in the mirror; she hated seeing the worry in her own eyes.

When she stepped back into the room, she rolled Ian's bed toward the door. The wheels moved smoothly, and she guided him down the hallway to the special care room with soft music playing in the background.

Hanna, the maid, appeared with her apron already tied and her hair in a bun.

"Good morning, Dr. Adams," Hanna said.

Ava smiled. "Morning, Hanna. I already gave him his first medication. At eight, please give him the second one, and make sure he finishes his feeding at ten. And... try to take him outside for a little sunshine later, even if it's just the balcony."

Hanna nodded. "I will. And breakfast is ready for you... oats and fruit."

Ava laughed. "You spoil me. I'll take it with me today. I'm running late."

She grabbed the packed breakfast from the counter. Then she turned to Ian again.

"Be good today," she whispered, touching his cheek. "I'll come back as soon as I can."

She leaned down and kissed his forehead gently.

Ian's eyes moved toward her.

Ava whispered, "I love you," then she straightened herself.

"Hanna," she said as she walked toward the door, "call me if anything changes. Anything at all."

"Yes, Dr. Adams," Hanna replied.

Ava hurried outside, her bag over her shoulder, breakfast in hand. She unlocked her car, took a deep breath, and slid into the driver's seat.

"I'll eat at work... if there's time," she said to herself with a weak smile.

The engine started, and she drove off toward the hospital, leaving her husband in Hanna's careful hands.

Ashford Central hospital's parking lot was already busy, nurses and doctors heading in and out. Ava parked her car in her usual spot. She grabbed her bag and her breakfast, locked the door, and walked toward the main entrance.

Automatic doors slid open, letting in the clean hospital smell. Nurses passed her in the hallway.

"Good morning, Dr. Adams," one of them greeted.

"Morning," Ava replied with a small smile.

Another nurse gave her a little wave and Ava waved back as she walked calmly to her office.

A few seconds later, she opened the door to her office. It was a small, neat room with blue walls, shelves full of medical books, brain charts pinned on a board, and her computer at the center. There was also a skeleton model standing in the corner.

Ava placed her bag on the desk and took out her breakfast and coffee. Before she even took a sip, she powered on her computer to check the night reports of patients.

Just then, a nurse walked in holding a folder.

"Dr. Adams, the results for Mr. Danley's scans came in."

Ava took the folder. "Thank you. I'll check them now."

The nurse nodded and left.

Ava sat down, opened her breakfast container. But before she could take her first bite, her phone rang. Her heart skipped a beat as one thought came to her mind... Ian.