Anya
Liza caught up to me near the med room, bumping into my shoulder with her own. “So,” she said lightly. “Should I start calling you Doctor Volkov, Favored One, or is that too formal?”
I blinked, brow furrowing. “What?”
She just grinned wider. “Relax. I'm kidding. Mostly.”
I stopped walking. “Liza.”
“Okay, okay,” she said, hands up. “Before you murder me with your eyes, just know I come bearing gossip and good intentions.”
“That's never comforting.”
Liza leaned in, lowering her voice theatrically. “Carter decided today was the day he'd die on the hill of his own stupidity.”
Of course he did. “What did he say now?” I muttered, willing my heart rate to slow. My mind raced; he had been the catalyst that had set Desmond loose in the trauma room not even an hour before.
“He implied you get special treatment,” Liza said, rolling her eyes with a callous wave of her hand. “In the hall. Loudly. With confidence. A bold strategy.”
I felt the familiar flicker of irritation. “Let me guess. He did it where everyone could hear.” Steady voice, steady hands. I had to be perfectly unreadable.
“Mm-hmm. And then,” she said, smiling again, “Dr. Desmond Vaughn happened to him.”
That got my attention. Shit. “Wait,” I said, trying — and probably failing — to keep a straight face. “What do you mean happened?”
Liza’s expression softened, just a little. “I mean he shut Carter down so cleanly I almost applauded.”
My grip on the chart tightened. “What did he say, Liza?”
She studied me for a beat, then answered carefully. “He said you earned every bit of authority you took in that trauma. And,” she added, and my chest tightened. Her words were lighter, but with something heavy underneath, “that you were the most competent physician in the room.”
The words didn't feel jokey at all. They felt heavy. Earned. Dangerous.
“He told Carter that if he had concerns about you, he'd better bring evidence,” she continued, something twinkling in her eyes. “And if he had concerns about Desmond, he could take them to administration.”
I swallowed. “He didn't have to do that.”
“No,” she agreed quietly. “He didn't.”
We stood there for a moment, the noise of the department washing around us. Liza nudged me again, gentler this time. “For the record? That didn’t sound like favoritism. It sounded like respect.”
I nodded once because trusting my voice felt risky. Saying anything felt risky. She straightened. “Anyway… Just thought you should know before someone else tells it worse.”
When she walked away, I stayed where I was, pulse still skidding. He hadn't said a word to me about it. About the confrontation with Carter or the accusations. And I wasn't sure which worried me more.