Chapter 2: The Ones Who Notice

The morning rush had barely passed, but Nurse Cara Mendoza was already on her second coffee and fifth patient round. She moved with practiced rhythm—IV checks, vitals, charting. ICU was a battlefield of quiet machines and slow tragedies, and she was one of the few who never flinched.

She'd worked at St. Augustine Medical for nearly nine years. She knew the rhythm of the place. The unspoken rules. The faces of regulars. The doctors who barked, the ones who froze, the ones who cared.

And then there was Dr. Eliot Wren.

Too calm. Too composed. Too perfect.

Not that she had anything solid. It was a feeling. A prickle at the back of the neck whenever he walked into a room and things got... quiet.

This morning, she noticed the sheet had been pulled up over Mr. Ellison's face.

He was gone.

Cara blinked. He'd been hanging on last night. Weak, yes, but not unstable. She had given him fluids, repositioned his oxygen. His breathing had been shallow but steady.

She checked the time of death on the chart. 08:16 AM. Pronounced by Dr. Wren.

She looked at the line entry. Neatly written. No unusual notes. Just like always.

She stood in the doorway a moment longer than necessary, watching the stillness of the room. Something tugged at her memory. A whisper of unease.

This wasn't the first time.

Three months ago: Mrs. Chan, end-stage cancer, alert one morning—gone by noon. No family.

Two months ago: John Reyes, COPD—talked to her during breakfast. Flatlined mid-shift.

Last week: Leila Novak, diabetic coma. "She's stable," the night nurse had said. Dead by morning.

All of them under Eliot's care.

Each death had an explanation. Each chart spotless. Each passing quiet. Almost... too quiet.

She didn't want to believe it. Not of him.

He was kind. Always asked about her sick mother. Remembered birthdays. Once brought muffins for the whole staff.

But sometimes, when he smiled after a death, it didn't feel comforting.

It felt like acceptance. Like he'd been expecting it.

Cara shook the thought from her head. Maybe she was just tired. Seeing patterns in grief. That happened. Nurses got superstitious. Paranoid.

Still...

She made a note to review Mr. Ellison's charts more closely later. Not officially. Just curiosity. Just caution.

She glanced across the hallway and saw Eliot speaking gently to another patient's daughter. His posture was relaxed, expression full of empathy.

He looked like hope in human form.

But something about that moment made her shiver.

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End of Chapter 2.

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