Chapter 36
Chapter Thirty-Six
SILAS
Healthcare facilities always smell the same. Antiseptic, coffee, and fear under fresh paint.
Riverview’s lobby looks harmless enough. Neutral art, fake plants, and a bubble wall that tries to be soothing and fails. I sit in a gray vinyl chair with a clipboard on my knee and a hospital badge clipped to my scrubs. The badge reads “Samuel Hale, RN,” with a photo of my very professional face.
My watch ticks toward 10:15 a.m.
Their van pulls up to the curb, white with green lettering. My neck goes tight.
There she is.
Minxy steps down from the van with her shoulders drawn high and her hands balled in the pockets of a gray sweatshirt with the school emblem.
She is smaller than I remember from photos, thinner too.
Her hair is braided tight against her head.
Her eyes do not move much, just a quick flicker around the lobby and then straight ahead, like someone trained her not to stare.
Nurse Halloran climbs out next. She’s in pale blue scrubs, badge on her chest, expression brisk. Another woman in a St. Helen’s polo gets out from the passenger side, carrying a clipboard and a tablet. Halloran takes Minxy’s elbow, not rough, but not gentle either, and they walk toward reception.
I feel the shift inside myself the way a gear clicks into place.
Game on.
Gideon stands, stretches like he’s been sitting too long, and walks toward the coffee kiosk in the corner near the hall we need. That puts him at our junction point.
I stand a beat later and head toward the reception desk, timing my steps with theirs.
“Good morning,” the receptionist chirps at the St. Helens’ women. Her hair is coiled into a bun so tight it looks painful. “Check-in for an evaluation?”
“Yes,” the woman with the tablet answers. “Patient: Grant, Minxy. 10:30 exam with Dr. Harding.”
“Perfect, I see her here,” the receptionist says, fingers tapping keys. “We’ll bring you back in just a moment.”
I smooth a hand down the front of my scrub top and step into the little space between the desk and the hall. Not blocking. Just nearby. Staff, not a stranger.
Halloran glances at me, eyes flicking over my badge. “You’re new.”
“Agency,” I lie easily. “Float staff. Hartman.” I give her a short nod, bored and busy. “You’re from St. Helen’s?”
She exhales, already tired. “Every other week.”
“Lucky us,” I say.
The receptionist prints a wristband, walks around the desk, and wraps it around Minxy’s wrist. The girl doesn’t flinch, but she goes still in the way kids do when they’re used to shrinking themselves.
Her eyes stay down, lashes rigid, shoulders drawn in too tight for her small frame.
I’m shocked she hasn’t recognized my voice yet to look up and see who I am.
“Exam room 203,” the receptionist says. “Main hall, second left.”
“Got it,” Halloran replies. She steers Minxy toward the corridor.
I wait two beats, then fall into step behind them.
“Excuse me?” I pitch my voice just loud enough to carry.
Halloran glances back. “Yes?”
I gesture toward the folder in her hand. “You said you were here for the Grant eval?”
“We are,” she says, guarded now.
“Radiology called up,” I say. “They want Minxy in Radiology first.”
I step closer to Minxy as I speak, just enough to make sure she hears me clearly.
The moment my voice wraps around her name, her head lifts like someone pulled a string under her chin. Her eyes lock onto me, and recognition slams into her face so fast she forgets to breathe.
Her lips part. Her chest stutters. She looks at me like I’m a ghost and a lifeline in the same breath.
“Uncle Silas,” she mouths before she can stop herself.
The words fracture something in my chest.
I raise a finger to my lips, soft but firm. “Shhhhh,” I mouth.
She swallows hard, snapping her gaze away with visible effort. Her fingers twitch against the fabric of her baggy hoodie. She keeps walking only because the woman behind her pushes her forward.
Halloran’s brows pinch together. “No one told us that.”
The other St. Helen’s woman frowns. “We’re scheduled for an exam in ten minutes.”
“And Radiology is backed up for three hours if we miss this window,” I counter. “You want to sit with a teenager in a waiting room that long?”
Halloran looks at Minxy, then at the woman beside her. I watch the calculation tick behind her eyes. Keeping a schedule versus rocking the boat.
“Is this in the chart?” she asks.
“It will be,” I say. “You know how it is. Dr. Harding got called away to an emergency, so he figured to save you from waiting we’d start with Radiology and then he can do the evaluation when he’s back.”
“Fine,” she says. “Lead the way.”
I step up beside Minxy, not in front of her. “Hi, Miss Grant,” I say quietly. “I’m Samuel. I’m going to walk with you, alright?”
Her eyes flicker up to mine, and she smirks and gives the smallest nod, then looks away.
We turn into the staff corridor. The lighting changes slightly; the hum of the lobby fades. Doors line the walls, mostly closed. There’s no one here right now, which is luck or good timing or both.
Halfway down the hall, my phone vibrates in my pocket. One short buzz.
Gideon’s signal. He’s in position.
I keep my expression neutral. Halloran doesn’t notice. She’s checking her phone, probably making sure no one is going to yell at her for moving off script.
“St. Helen’s is a long drive,” I remark casually. “You have to do that often?”
“Every other week,” the other woman answers. “It’s necessary. These girls need structure.”
I bite off the reply I want to give and nod instead. “Right.”
We reach the intersection that splits to Radiology on one side and the service wing on the other. On paper, Radiology is to the right. The red emergency exit we need is to the left, around the corner, out of sight of any curious eyes in the main hall.
Gideon stands at the intersection dressed in a dark blazer and open-collared shirt, the picture of a consultant who bills by the hour and doesn’t tolerate inefficiency.
His badge lists him as “Dr. Ezra Lane, External Evaluation Specialist.” He’s pretending to scroll something on his phone, but I know he’s watching every move we make.
“Halloran?” he calls, glancing at the name on her badge.
Minxy freezes again. Her eyes widen, and her lips tremble. She knows that voice; she knows him.
She mouths “Uncle G,” tiny and soundless.
He gives her the smallest nod. A signal only she would notice. Her shoulders shake once before she gets them under control.
Halloran, oblivious to everything, answers. “Yes?”
“Dr. Harding asked me to thank you for bringing Miss Grant down,” Gideon says. “He was just paged to an emergency. He wants imaging done first to save time. My team will take her from here.”
She stiffens. “We were told to go straight to exam room 203.”
“Things change,” he says mildly. “Treatment plans evolve.”
The other woman from St. Helen’s steps closer, eyes narrow. “We should stay with her.”
Gideon gives a pleasant non-smile. “You can wait in the family area outside Radiology. There’s coffee, vending machine snacks and motivational posters.
” He turns his attention to Halloran. “Look, I appreciate that you’re protective.
Truly, I do. But we’re on an internal clock for equipment time.
Either we move her now, or I reschedule this entire evaluation and send her back to the school without seeing anyone today. ”
That does it. Even they know that wasted days cost money.
Halloran exhales through her nose. “Fine. We’ll wait in the family lounge. Come get me the minute she’s done in Radiology.”
“We’ll be quick,” Gideon says.
I step closer to Minxy and offer my hand, palm up. “Come on, kiddo. We’ll knock this out and then you can be bored in one less room.”
Gideon steps back to make space for us. Halloran and the other woman head toward the right-hand hall, St. Helen’s badge swinging. One of them glances back once, then disappears around the bend.
We turn left.
The second they are out of sight, the air changes. My shoulders loosen half an inch. Gideon’s jaw unclenches.
“Straight ahead,” he murmurs. “Door at the end. Push bar.”
I guide Minxy down the quiet corridor. The walls here are bare; no art, no signs promising hope. Just beige paint and the buzz of fluorescent lights.
She glances up at me again, and her composure cracks. “You… you really came,” she says, breathless, barely audible.
I squeeze her hand. “Always.”
“Are you going to send me back?” she asks, her voice wavering.
“No,” Gideon answers behind us. “We’re taking you to your brother.”
She stops walking. Her hand spasms in mine. “Talon?”
“Yeah,” I say. “He’s waiting outside.”
Her eyes fill so fast it punches air out of my lungs. “You’re lying.”
“I’m not,” I tell her. “He came to us. He asked for help. We’re getting you out.”
She looks between us, breathing fast. “They said no one was coming.”
“They were wrong,” Gideon says. “Can you walk with us a little longer, Minx? Thirty more steps.”
We walk another ten, my pulse ticking hard in my ears.
Footsteps echo ahead.
A young tech rounds the corner carrying a stack of linens. Too soon. We’re out of position. There’s nowhere to duck without looking suspicious. Minxy’s hand clamps around mine hard.
“Morning,” the tech chirps, shifting the linens to one arm. She barely glances at us… until her eyes flick to Minxy’s wristband. “Oh—Radiology? They’re slammed today. Good luck getting in.”
I give her a tight, practiced smile. “We’ve got her routed early.”
“Lucky,” she laughs, rolling her eyes. “Wish they’d do that for my floor. Anyway—have a good one.”
She breezes past us without waiting for a reply.
But Minxy’s shoulders are rigid, breath stuttered, and Gideon’s jaw ticks once. Even after she disappears around the corner, we all stay frozen for a beat too long—just long enough to feel how fast this could fall apart.
Then Gideon murmurs, “Keep moving.”