I don't respond, focusing on the even, careful stitches. Layer by layer, I close Miguel up, my world narrowing to the wound and my hands. Nothing else exists—not the illegality, not the danger, not the blood money I'm earning. Just the work. The healing.
It takes forty-three minutes to complete. When I finish, I step back, peeling off my gloves.
"Keep it clean. No exertion for at least a week. Watch for signs of infection—increased pain, redness, fever." I recite instructions automatically. "The internal stitches will dissolve. The external ones need to come out in ten days."
Miguel nods, already sitting up. "Thanks, Doc."
"I'm not a doctor," I correct him automatically.
"Yet," Richard adds, looking pleased. "You're not a doctor yet."
I clean up methodically, disposing of the bloody gauze and packaging in a trash bag someone has thoughtfully provided. The rhythm of it is soothing—wipe, dispose, organize. When I finish, I turn to find only Ian remaining, leaning against the doorframe.
"You did well," he says, his voice neutral.
"Thanks." I wash my hands thoroughly in the small sink. The water runs pink, then clear. "It wasn't that complicated."
"That's not what I meant." His eyes are dark, unreadable. "You didn't hesitate."
I dry my hands, considering my response. "Would hesitation have helped Miguel?"
"No. But most people would have anyway." He pushes off the doorframe, moving closer. "Most people would be freaking out right now."
"I'm not most people." The words come out sharper than intended.
"No," Ian agrees, stopping just short of my personal space. "You're not. That's what worries me."
His concern irritates me. "I don't need your worry."
"Someone should worry about you, Claire. You certainly don't."
The use of my real name sends a jolt through me. "Don't call me that here."
"Why not? Isn't that who just performed illegal medical treatment? Claire the med student?" His voice is low, intense. "Or was that Rose the stripper with the mysterious medical skills?"
"Does it matter?" I challenge, stepping closer instead of away. "I did what needed to be done."
"And next time? When it's a gunshot wound? Or worse?" His jaw tightens. "There are lines, once crossed, you can't come back from."
"Lines?" I laugh, the sound hollow even to my own ears. "I crossed those lines the first night I took my clothes off for cash. This is just... expanding my skill set."
Ian's eyes darken. "You're playing with fire."
"No," I correct him, gathering my things. "I'm getting paid to put the fires out. There's a difference."
I brush past him, our shoulders touching briefly. The contact sends an electric current through my skin that I refuse to acknowledge.
"My shift starts in twenty minutes," I say over my shoulder. "I need to get ready."
He doesn't try to stop me, but I feel his eyes on my back all the way to the dressing room.
The dressing roombuzzes with pre-shift energy. Lilac touches up her makeup while Dahlia stretches in the corner. Saffron is already in costume, adjusting her rhinestone bra in the mirror.
"There she is!" Saffron calls when I enter. "Thought you might be skipping tonight."
I shake my head, moving to my station. "Just had a meeting with the boss."
"Ooh, private meeting with Daddy Warbucks," Lilac teases. "Moving up in the world, Rose."
