Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
CALLA
PRESENT DAY
I arrived at the conference room at six fifty-eight. Not early enough to seem eager. Not late enough to draw attention. Just exactly on time, the way I approached everything in my life that required control.
I'd barely slept the night before. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Cassian in that cafeteria, laughing with residents, looking settled and content in a life that no longer included me.
Felice had found me at two in the morning, standing in our dark kitchen with a glass of water I wasn't drinking.
"You're spiraling," she'd said.
"I'm hydrating."
She made me chamomile tea and sat with me until the sky started to lighten, talking about nothing important. Her latest design project, a documentary she watched about octopuses, the neighbor's noisy dog—anything to fill the silence I couldn't seem to escape.
Now, standing in the doorway of the conference room, I felt every hour of lost sleep pressing against my skull.
The room was already half full, residents and attendings claiming seats around a table that was too small for the number of bodies cramming into the space.
I scanned for an empty chair near the back, somewhere I could observe without being observed, and found one wedged between a supply cabinet and a window that overlooked the parking garage.
Perfect.
I spent the previous evening rehearsing this moment, standing in front of my bathroom mirror while Felice sat on the edge of the tub, feeding me lines like we were preparing for a stage play.
"When you see him, don't react," she'd instructed. "No facial expression. No sharp intake of breath. You're a statue. A very attractive, emotionally unavailable statue."
"I'm always emotionally unavailable."
She smirked. "Yes, but now you need to be intentionally emotionally unavailable. There's a difference."
I practiced my neutral expression until my face ached. I rehearsed potential conversations, scripting responses to every possible thing Cassian might say. I prepared for awkward silences, loaded questions, and the inevitable moment when our eyes would meet across a crowded room.
What I hadn't prepared for was the door opening at six fifty-nine and Cassian walking in like he owned the place.
He was wearing navy scrubs and a white coat, his dirty blonde hair slightly disheveled. He'd gotten broader since I'd last seen him. The angles of his face had sharpened with age, his jaw more defined, and his cheekbones more prominent.
He looked good.
He looked annoyingly, distractingly good.
I dropped my gaze to the notebook in my lap and pretended to review notes I hadn't written yet.
Breathe, I told myself. You've performed emergency thoracotomies on dying patients. You've held beating hearts in your hands. You can survive a staff meeting.
The seat beside me scraped against the floor. I glanced up, expecting a resident or a nurse, and found myself looking at a woman with dark hair and kind eyes. She was already extending her hand.
"You must be Dr. Karras. I'm Mireya Rosen, RNFA. I'll be assisting on most of your surgeries."
I shook her hand. Her grip was firm and her smile genuine. "Nice to meet you."
"Likewise. I've read your research on emergency thoracotomy protocols. Impressive work." She settled into the chair beside me, tucking her bag under the table. "Fair warning, Dr. Patel's meetings tend to run long. She's thorough."
"Good to know."
Mireya studied me for a moment, her expression curious but not intrusive. "First week jitters? You seem tense."
"I don't get jitters."
"Right." She smiled like she didn't believe me but was too polite to push. "Well, if you need anything, I'm around. We nurses know where all the good coffee is hidden."
Before I could respond, Dr. Patel entered the room and the ambient chatter died down. She moved to the head of the table briskly, with a tablet in hand, and reading glasses perched on her nose.
"Good morning, everyone. Let's get started."
She launched into updates on staffing changes, new equipment acquisitions, and budget allocations for the coming quarter. I took notes, my pen moving across the page in neat lines while my attention kept drifting toward the front of the room.
Toward Cassian.
He sat three rows ahead of me, slightly to the left.
I could see the back of his head, the slope of his shoulders, the way he leaned forward when something interested him and sat back when it didn't. He was engaged in the meeting, nodding while l occasionally jotting something in his own notebook.
Once, he made a comment to the person beside him, and they both smiled.
Always connecting, always drawing people in. He collected friends like how people collected stamps, effortlessly and without apparent intention. I used to watch him work a room and marvel at how easy and natural he made it look.
I'd never had that gift. People were puzzles I couldn't solve. Their expectations and emotions were a language I'd never fully learned to speak.
But Cassian had been the exception. For a few years, at least, he'd been the one person I didn't have to try with.
And then I ruined it. We'd ruined it. Together and separately and in all the small ways that added up to something irreparable.
He hadn't looked at me once since sitting down.
I didn't know if that made things better or worse.
"Now," Dr. Patel said, her tone made my spine straighten. "The high-risk trauma protocol."
Several people shifted in their seats. This was clearly the main event.
"As you know, we've been developing a new system for managing multi-trauma patients.
Streamlined triage, improved communication between departments, and better resource allocation during mass casualty events.
" Patel looked up from her tablet, scanning the room.
"I'm naming co-leads to oversee development and training. "
"Dr. Karras."
I met her gaze without flinching.
"Dr. Reed."
Cassian's head turned. For the first time since he entered the room, his eyes found mine.
It took half a second of contact before he looked away, his expression flickering through something I couldn't read. Surprise, maybe. Recognition. Discomfort.
Then his face went carefully blank, and he turned back to face Dr. Patel.
"Congratulations to you both," Patel continued, apparently oblivious to the tension now crackling through the room. "You've both got stellar reputations, and this protocol needs that kind of expertise. I expect great things."
Statue, I reminded myself. Emotionally unavailable statue.
"The first planning meeting is Thursday at six," Patel added. "I'll send the agenda tonight. Questions?"
The room fell into quiet murmurs.
"Good. Moving on."
The rest of the meeting passed in a blur. Patel discussed scheduling rotations, upcoming conferences, and a new research initiative she wanted volunteers for.
I heard none of it. My mind was too busy calculating the implications of what had just happened.
Cassian and I would be co-leading a team together. That meant meetings, collaboration, and hours spent in close proximity, discussing patient outcomes and resource allocation—all the mundane details that came with hospital administration.
This was fine. I could handle this. I was a professional.
I repeated that to myself like a mantra while Patel droned on about continuing education requirements and departmental goals.
Professional.
Composed.
Unaffected.
These were things I knew how to be. I built my entire career on the ability to compartmentalize, locking away everything personal and focusing solely on the task at hand.
Mireya caught my eye from beside me and raised an eyebrow, a silent query laced with concern.
I gave her a small nod.
She didn't look convinced, but she didn't push. And I appreciated that.
When the meeting ended, I gathered my things slowly, tucking my notebook into my bag. People filed out in clusters around me, their conversations fading as they dispersed into the hallway.
I was hoping Cassian would leave first. That he'd slip out with the crowd and spare us both the awkwardness of a direct interaction.
But when I looked up, he was standing by the door.
Waiting.
Our eyes met, and my heart did something painful in my chest. I ignored it.
"Can we talk?" he asked.
His voice. God, his voice. It sounded exactly the same—the voice that used to read me medical journals in bed because he knew it helped me fall asleep.
"Sure."
We found an empty office down the hall, a small space cluttered with filing cabinets and outdated equipment. Cassian closed the door behind us, then seemed to realize how that might look and opened it again, leaving it halfway ajar.
The gesture was so achingly familiar. He'd always been conscious of appearances, careful not to put either of us in compromising positions.
"I didn't know you were coming here," he said.
"I didn't know you were still here."
"Yeah, well." He shoved his hands in his coat pockets, a nervous habit I recognized. "I am."
I studied him while he studied the floor. Up close, the changes were more obvious. There were fine lines at the corners of his eyes that hadn't been there before. And he had a small and faded scar on his jaw that I didn't recognize.
"This doesn't have to be complicated," I said finally, my voice steady. A minor miracle I thought. "We're colleagues now. We can handle that."
"Right. Professionally."
"The protocol is important. I'm not going to let..." I gestured vaguely between us, searching for words that wouldn't cut too deep. "Whatever this is interfering with the work."
"Neither am I."
"Good."
He nodded. "Good."
Neither of us moved.
The office was too small and I could smell him from where I was standing, cedar and something warm underneath, a scent that hadn't changed in five years. My body remembered it before my mind could catch up, muscles loosening in response to a familiarity I hadn't consented to.
I hated that he still had that effect on me.
"Cal," he said, and the sound of my nickname in his mouth made my heart twist behind my ribs.
I lifted my chin and met his gaze directly. "We should keep this professional. First names might blur those lines."
Something flickered across his face. Was it pain? Disappointment? It was gone before I could be sure.
"Dr. Karras, then," he said. His voice had cooled, the warmth retreating behind a wall I recognized because I'd built the same one. "I'll see you Thursday."
He moved toward the door, then paused with his hand on the frame. For a moment, I thought he might say something else. Something real to acknowledge the weight of everything standing between us.
But Cassian had always been better at silence than I gave him credit for.
He nodded once and left.
I stood alone in the cluttered office, my hands shaking. I pressed them flat against my thighs and focused on breathing.
In through my nose. Out through my mouth.
The technique felt hollow now. A bandage on a wound that needed stitches.
I thought about all the things I hadn't said and the questions I swallowed instead of asking.
How are you? Are you happy? Do you ever think about what we had, or have you moved on? Do you hate me for how it ended?