Sophia smiled slightly, like I'd confirmed something for her. “I think Noah's just concerned about giving you proper care,” she said smoothly. “Perhaps tonight will help him understand the... broader aspects of his position.”
The way she said it made my skin crawl.
“Exactly,” Adrian agreed, his weird mismatched eyes fixed on me with that laser focus that made my stomachflip. “Consider it part of your training. Seven PM in the main hall. Dominic will sort out clothes.”
Not a request. I nodded, knowing when to shut up. “I'll be there.”
The rest of breakfast was weirdly normal, with Sophia asking about my medical background like she was genuinely interested. By the time we finished, I'd almost forgotten I wasn't just having a meal with posh employers. Almost.
“I've had someone get your things from your flat,” Adrian mentioned as we stood up. “Anything specific you need?”
The casual invasion of my privacy, strangers pawing through my stuff, hit me like a slap. Another reminder of who had the power here.
“Just my medical books and the photos,” I said, thinking of the pictures of Isabelle that were the only real decoration in my tiny flat. “You've already provided everything else I could need.”
“Viktor's handling it personally,” Adrian said, like that was supposed to make me feel better. “Now let's get started on your assessment. I've got meetings this afternoon.”
The medical suitewas fucking incredible. Better equipped than most hospitals, with tech so new some of it wasn't even available to the NHS yet. While waiting for Adrian, I explored the cabinets and drawers, finding everything organised with military precision.
Looking at the setup, I could tell it had been arranged by someone with outdated ideas about burn treatment. I started rearranging, setting up for the kinds of therapies I was already planning in my head. The nervous system stuff especiallywould need a different approach than what old Montgomery had been doing.
“Improving things already?” Adrian said from the doorway, making me jump. I hadn't heard him come in.
He was wearing only loose tracksuit bottoms, his entire upper body on display. In the bright medical lights, I could see everything that had been partly hidden in my dim room last night. His right side was a map of fire damage from face to hip, the scars telling a story of catastrophic burning and years of reconstruction.
But it wasn't just the scars that caught my attention. Under the damaged skin was a body built for power, all lean muscle and coiled strength. He trained hard, that much was obvious. His left side, untouched by fire, was like looking at what might have been, smooth skin over sculpted muscle.
“The setup needed updating,” I said, pulling on examination gloves to give my hands something to do besides shaking. “Your old doctor was behind the times.”
“In what way?” Adrian asked, settling onto the examination table with animal grace. Even with half his body scarred, there was something magnetic about him that pissed me off because I didn't want to notice it.
“In about a dozen ways,” I said, approaching him. “Let me check last night's dressing first.”
I peeled back the bandage I'd applied to his gunshot graze, relieved to see it looking better. The inflammation was down, the edges stabilising nicely. My fingers probed the area, feeling the transition from scarred to healthy tissue.
“This is healing well,” I said, gathering supplies for a fresh dressing. “But there's so much more we could be doing for the older scarring.”
I started setting up the equipment I'd need, trying to focus on the medical aspects rather than the bizarre situation I'dlanded in. I had to force myself not to stare at those sweat pants he was wearing. The scars were extensive, sure, but it was the raw power underneath them that was more distracting than I wanted to admit.
“Let's try something different today,” I said. “I want to test some sensory responses that weren't in your records.”
“Montgomery wasn't big on experimental approaches.”
“That's pretty obvious from your file,” I replied, while I grabbed a tray of small tools. “He was treating you like it was still 1990.”
I moved closer, hyperaware of Adrian watching my every movement. The medical suite suddenly felt too small, too intimate.
“I need to check nerve response patterns,” I explained, picking up a sensory testing tool. “Some parts will feel strange, maybe uncomfortable.”
“I'm familiar with discomfort,” Adrian said dryly.
I started with his left side, the undamaged skin, to establish a baseline. When my gloved fingers brushed across his chest, I noticed his breath catch slightly. Not pain – something else. I kept my face carefully neutral, even as my own pulse picked up.
“Now the scarred areas,” I said, moving to his right side. As I worked, I noticed something odd in the pattern of the worst scarring. The burn damage wasn't random like most fire injuries I'd seen. There were distinct patterns that looked almost... deliberate.
“These weren't all from the same incident,” I said before I could stop myself. “Some of these are different ages.”
Adrian went completely still under my hands. The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees.
