Chapter 7

The underground clinic was busier than ever. Patients came in waves—some limping, others carried in on makeshift stretchers. The demand for Ethan's skills had skyrocketed, and though he managed to treat them all, the constant work was taking its toll.

Ethan leaned against the counter, wiping sweat from his brow. The blood-stained gloves in his hand were a grim reminder of the relentless pace he'd been keeping.

"This isn't sustainable," he muttered. "I need help."

"Recommendation: Expand operations to ensure efficiency," the system chimed in. "Probability of survival increases with additional personnel."

Ethan sighed. As much as he hated admitting it, the system was right. He needed assistants—people to manage the influx of patients, help with surgeries, and keep the clinic running smoothly. But finding trustworthy individuals in the underground wasn't going to be easy.

Grayson stood in the doorway of the clinic, watching as Ethan scrawled a crude help-wanted notice on a piece of cardboard.

"You're really looking to hire people down here?" Grayson asked, his tone skeptical.

"I don't have a choice," Ethan said without looking up. "I can't keep doing this alone."

Grayson shrugged. "Your funeral. I'll spread the word. Just make sure you don't hire someone who's gonna stab you in the back."

Ethan gave him a wry look. "Thanks for the vote of confidence."

By the next day, the word had spread, and people began trickling into the clinic for interviews. Ethan set up a small area in the back, turning it into a makeshift office. It wasn't much, but it would do.

Ethan sat behind a rickety desk, a clipboard in hand. His first applicant was a wiry man with shifty eyes who reeked of stale alcohol.

"So," Ethan began, scanning the man's hastily written application. "You said you've worked in 'healthcare' before. Care to elaborate?"

The man grinned nervously. "Yeah, uh, I used to help patch up some guys in the ring. You know, boxers. Real messy stuff, but I'm good with bandages."

Ethan pinched the bridge of his nose. "Right. Thanks for coming in."

The next applicant wasn't much better—a woman who claimed to have nursing experience but couldn't name a single basic medical procedure. By the time Ethan reached the fifth interview, he was ready to give up.

That's when she walked in.

The woman who entered the room was unassuming, with a neat uniform, wire-framed glasses, and her hair tied back in a modest bun. She held a small folder in her hands, her expression calm but focused.

"Name?" Ethan asked, glancing at her application.

"Claire White," she said smoothly, her voice steady. "I'm a registered nurse with experience in emergency care."

Ethan raised an eyebrow, scanning the document in front of him. Her qualifications were impressive—almost too impressive for someone willing to work in a place like this.

"You don't look like someone who belongs in the underground," he said, leaning back in his chair. "Why are you applying here?"

She hesitated for a fraction of a second before answering. "I heard about the work you're doing. I've seen how many people down here need help, and I want to be a part of that."

Ethan studied her closely. Something about her seemed… off. Her answers were too polished, her demeanor too composed. But he couldn't deny that she was the most qualified person he'd interviewed all day.

"Fine," he said, setting her application aside. "If you're serious about this, you'll need to prove it. Let's see what you can do."

Ethan led Clara—still disguised as "Claire"—into the main clinic, where a man with a deep laceration on his arm was waiting for treatment. The man winced as Ethan pulled back the blood-soaked cloth covering the wound.

"Okay, Nurse White," Ethan said, stepping aside. "Show me what you've got."

Clara's eyes flicked to Ethan, then to the wound. Without missing a beat, she pulled on gloves and began working. Her movements were precise and confident as she cleaned the wound, applied pressure to stop the bleeding, and began stitching the laceration with practiced ease.

Ethan watched closely, his suspicion growing. Whoever this woman was, she wasn't just a nurse. Her skill level was far beyond what he expected, and her hands moved with the precision of someone who had been in far more dangerous situations than a hospital ER.

When she finished, she stepped back and looked at Ethan. "Satisfied?"

Ethan nodded slowly. "You're good. Too good. Where did you really learn to do this?"

Clara's expression didn't falter. "I told you—I have experience."

Ethan crossed his arms, his gaze piercing. "And I'm telling you, that's not the whole story."

Before Clara could respond, Grayson burst into the room, his face dark with urgency. "Doc, we've got trouble."

"What is it now?" Ethan asked, already reaching for his bag.

"One of my men," Grayson said, his voice tight. "He got jumped. Broken ribs, internal bleeding—I don't think he's gonna make it without you."

Ethan sighed. "Bring him in."

Grayson hesitated. "There's a catch. The guys who attacked him… they're outside. They want a piece of you too."

Ethan's stomach turned. He looked at Clara, who stood watching the exchange with cool composure. "You still want the job?" he asked, half-joking.

Clara smirked. "You need me more than I need you, Doc. Let's go."

Ethan grabbed his supplies, his mind racing. Whoever Clara really was, he didn't have time to figure it out. For now, he needed all the help he could get.