Chapter 2
TWO
ISLAND CLINIC – KASAVOA
The sun crested the edge of Kasavoa’s eastern ridge when Dr. Eira Montgomery stepped onto the veranda of the island’s ten-bed hospital, a steaming mug of black coffee in her hand. It was the kind of brew that could wake the dead, local beans roasted dark and bitter, just the way she liked it.
The air still carried the cool breath of dawn, kissed with salt from the sea and a faint medicinal tang of eucalyptus and iodine from the sterile overnight rounds.
The compound was beginning to stir. Nurses were rotating shifts, clipboards in their hands and voices low.
The children’s laughter echoed from the courtyard across the way, filtered through the flutter of laundry drying in the breeze.
A supply boat droned slowly into the harbor below, its motor barely a whisper.
Eira didn’t stop moving. At thirty-five, she was Kasavoa’s chief physician—trauma specialist, diagnostician, and emotional triage officer all in one.
She ran a clinic carved from sustainable stone and reinforced timber, staffed a hospital whose generators she could fix with a wrench and wire if needed, and oversaw the adjoining children’s home that housed orphans and rescued youth from infancy to adulthood.
The orphanage wasn’t a shelter. It was a second chance, a haven. It was a last bastion for kids rescued from trafficking routes, natural disasters, warzones, or just the numbing horror of being forgotten.
Eira built the program with her own hands and will, funded by Kieran Chase and Chase International, and held together with grit and grace.
She knew every child’s name, every scar, every trigger.
She memorized their medical charts, watched them grow, charted their trauma, and celebrated each fragile step forward.
She knew who still flinched at loud noises, who hoarded food, and who needed a light on to sleep.
Her right hand in all but name, Nurse Practitioner Liana Payet, approached, tablet in hand and an eyebrow already raised. “You skipped breakfast. Again,” she said, matter-of-fact.
Eira took the tablet with a half-smile. “I had coffee.”
“Which is not a food group. And I’m certain your blood sugar would agree with me.”
“Add a granola bar to my vitals.” She pulled one from her pocket, peeled the wrapper and took a bite.
Liana snorted. “Add a hot meal, or I’ll recruit the kids to stage a full-blown hunger strike.”
Eira gave a dry laugh and turned her focus to the screen.
The day’s load was already stacking up, and the doors hadn’t opened.
Two post-op check-ins, one suspected radius fracture from the northern fishing village, three vaccine boosters, and a supply inventory backlog.
Her gaze shifted toward the clinic’s small private dock on the other side of the road, where a courier boat from Tevenne Island was coming into a slip.
Tevenne sat like a shadow just past the reef line, cloaked in silence and funded by wealth with no face.
The island facility was marketed as a luxury "wellness retreat" for the ultra-elite.
It was filled with meditation, yoga, tai chi, pure foods, massage, colonics and anything else trendy.
All done under the watchful eye of Dr. William Blake and a staff of other doctors, nurses, nutritionists, and psychologists. It had a boat basin and an airstrip.
But Eira knew better. Her contract provided access for emergency medical oversight under Chase Medical’s domain. What she found every time she went left her with more questions than answers, but she went because no one else would.
There were poorly written medical records with incomplete patient histories. There was a security guard who never made eye contact. There were biometric-only doors and windowless corridors. The air always smelled faintly of bleach and something clinical, like ozone and silence.
This morning, the man who stepped off the arriving skiff wasn’t part of the usual security escort rotation. He was lean, in his forties, and dressed in matte-black BDUs and a polo shirt with Tevenne’s insignia on the collar.
“Dr. Montgomery,” he said without inflection. “Your presence is needed. Now.”
Eira handed her mug to Liana without a word. “Medical emergency?”
“Fall injury. Security personnel. Internal incident, not a guest.” He provided no name, no details, and absolutely no emotion.
She signaled for Liana to cover her morning rounds and climbed aboard the skiff. The sea cut like polished glass beneath them. Kasavoa shrank behind her, wrapped in sunlight. Tevenne rose like a fortress of white stone and black glass.
TEVENNE
A nurse wearing a white dress and white cap waited outside Room 17. She was in her mid-thirties, her ID badge only partially visible.
She spoke in a clipped, matter-of-fact tone. “Hi, I’m Eira Montgomery.”
"Dr. Montgomery, I’m Aurelia Fowler. The patient is staff.
His name is Andrei Varga. He is one of the security detail.
He collapsed during morning rounds. He is presenting with a high fever and disorientation.
Witnesses state he fell hard on the gravel.
Also visible is what appears to be a right ankle sprain and possibly a mild concussion.
There is no suspicious trauma outside the fall.
We think it's flu or heat-related. Labs are pending. "
Eira nodded. "Thank you. Why have you called me?” So far nothing she said was beyond the scope of a physician, even William Blake.
“His fever has not responded to either acetaminophen or ibuprofen.”
“Has he had fluids?"
"Yes, continuously for the three shifts I’ve treated him. Urine output is slowing down.”
"Vitals frequency?"
"Currently hourly, ma'am."
Eira pressed her lips together. "Good. Let’s keep it that way until the labs confirm what this is." After she put on a mask, isolation gown and gloves, she entered. “I want strict inputs and outputs measured. I want blood cultures times two and a cooling blanket in place for fever over 102.”
Aurelia dressed accordingly and followed.
The patient lay in the hospital bed, head slightly elevated. He looked to be in his mid-twenties and was pale, a clean bandage covering the right side of his forehead. He was shivering lightly and loosely restrained to prevent a fall.
According to the monitor’s memory, his vitals were holding but fragile.
Bruises marked his right abdomen and shoulder, and his right ankle was swollen and wrapped.
Abrasions were visible on his right forearm and palm.
The story of collapse was holding, but he wore no name band, and the chart was incomplete.
It was sloppier than she liked, but Aurelia’s report was more detailed than she was used to from Tevenne medical staff.
Eira moved to his side. "Mr. Varga? I’m Dr. Montgomery."
His eyes fluttered open. “Hi.”
“What happened?”
“I got dizzy and just fell over my own two feet.” He took a deep breath. “Doctor, I hurt all over.” His speech was slow, and there was a touch of an Eastern European accent.
“Mr. Varga, how long have you been on the island?”
“I came from Bulgaria a week ago.”
She nodded and began her full exam. “Okay, I’m going to check your eyes first. Follow the light for me.”
He blinked, pupils tracking as she moved the penlight. “Good. That’s a good sign.”
She gently palpated his scalp and lifted his head, placing his chin to his chest. “Any tenderness when I do this?”
“No. Just cold. And all I do is sleep.”
“Sleep is good for you. No swelling here. I think your head’s okay. That’s good news.”
She moved her stethoscope to his chest. “Deep breath in for me… and out. Again.”
“Lungs are clear. Heart rate’s up a little, but that could be the fever.” His skin was radiating heat. “Aurelia, could you get me a repeat temp?”
Her hands moved lower. “I’m going to check your abdomen now. Let me know if anything hurts.”
“I hurt all over.” He winced slightly under her pressure.
“Mild tenderness on the right. Probably bruising from the fall, but I’ll see what labs are being run and add more if necessary.
” She made a note on the chart. “Right ankle is swollen. When you’re up and around, you’ll need crutches.
We’ll watch your orientation as the fever breaks. Just one step at a time.”
From her bag, she pulled a slim diagnostic scanner about the size of her palm, military-issue, with surface and subdermal imaging functions. She ran it down his limbs and torso, cataloging internal bruising, soft-tissue swelling, and evidence of older injuries not listed on the chart.
“Ankle is strictly soft-tissue.” She paused. “He has atelectasis in his left lung. Keep him doing the incentive spirometer.”
“Doctor, his temp is 102.6,” the nurse said.
“When was his last fever reducer? Let’s start the cooling blanket. Also, keep Mr. Varga on isolation precautions.”
“He had paracetamol three hours ago.”
She reached for the saline and hung another bolus. “Give him another round of fever reducers.” She logged vitals in both the official file and her private, handwritten journal.
When she stepped back into the hall, Aurelia followed. “Has he been assigned a physician?"
The nurse hesitated. "Not officially. The staff is taking care of him. He’s flagged for observation under security protocols. Director Blake signs off on anything beyond supportive care."
Eira narrowed her eyes. "He needs more than observation protocols. He’s symptomatic, and this may be viral, but if it’s bacterial, or if he develops pneumonia, and if he has internal injuries…
If no one’s taking point medically, then I am.
And I’ll need complete access to all your lab results.
He’ll need a follow-up in twenty-four hours unless his symptoms worsen, then sooner, so he needs a doctor. ”
The nurse lowered her voice. "You’ll need to clear that with Dr. Blake."