Chapter 3
Chapter Three
FINN
He could optimize the entire lab's filing system in a weekend if they'd let him.
The current method had redundant categories and insufficient cross-referencing.
Finn made a mental note to suggest improvements once he'd established himself.
The first day wasn't the time to criticize existing procedures.
The sound of footsteps broke his concentration. Dr. Herrera.
Finn looked up to find her approaching his desk.
She was smaller than he'd fully processed during their collision that morning; her height barely reaching his shoulder.
Her hair was pulled back in a professional style.
She had warm brown eyes behind a pair of glasses.
He noticed how she walked with this slight confident bounce that seemed almost humorous given her petite frame.
She seemed to carry optimism despite the crushing deadline he'd overheard the team discussing.
He'd observed throughout the day how she'd checked in with each assistant, remembering personal details, asking about weekends and families. A warmth he hadn't encountered in previous labs, where lead researchers treated assistants like equipment. It seemed out of place in the cold, sterile lab.
"How was your first day?" she asked, genuine interest in her voice.
Finn kept his eyes on the screen, maintaining his practiced professional distance. "Productive. I've categorized about sixty percent of the current patient files and identified some preliminary patterns in the data."
"That's impressive, but I meant, how was your day? Settling in okay? Finding everything you need?"
The personal questions made him uncomfortable. They invited answers that he didn’t like to give. Answers he didn’t like to think about. "Everything's adequate," he answered, knowing the short answer would likely shut down further inquiries.
She tried again. "Are you from Seattle originally?"
"No." Finn glanced up to see her waiting for more. The silence stretched just long enough to become uncomfortable. He reluctantly added, "Northern California."
Dr. Herrera nodded, seemingly undeterred by his minimal responses. "Parents still there? Any siblings?"
The questions landed as they always did, sharp despite their innocence. Finn felt the familiar tightening in his chest. "Yeah, they’re still there." He delivered the answer flatly and hoped she wouldn’t inquire further into the second question.
She just nodded, clearly struggling with the one-sided nature of their exchange.
"Anything else?" he asked.
The words came out with a hard edge that he recognized as unnecessarily rude. He saw the flash of hurt in her eyes, just a flicker before she shuttered it behind her professionalism.
"No, that's all. Don't stay too late." Her voice was neutral now, the earlier warmth gone. "The building security does rounds at nine."
She turned and walked away, that bounce absent from her step.
Finn watched her go and felt a twist of regret in his stomach.
She'd been trying to be kind, to make him feel welcome.
He'd responded by being an ass. Finn sat motionless for a moment, considering whether he should go apologize.
Then he heard the lab door close behind him as she left.
Instead, he turned back to the computer and pulled up the next file.
Patient 87. Male, 35, military veteran, TBI from an IED explosion three years ago.
The symptom list scrolled before him: insomnia, emotional dysregulation, temporal lobe scarring, anxiety, depression that didn't respond to standard treatments.
Finn felt a cold weight settle in his chest. He clicked through to the brain scans, the gray scale images appearing on screen.
Areas of damage showed as darker regions where healthy tissue should be.
Patient 87's imaging showed reduced baseline function in the affected regions, with particular degradation in the posterior temporal lobe.
Just like his brother’s.