Albright snorted.”Safe? We are a full trauma team in a licensed hospital.” Alcott’s answer was soft.”Not safe enough for him?
Not yet.” Doyle swallowed hard. The senior chief told us something in the truck.
He said if he went down, nobody works on him until we find her. Tvaris frowned. Find who?
Doyle looked at the floor. He never gave us a name, only a description. He said to find the medic who wears the mark.
The room went quiet. A monitor chimed somewhere. A gurnie rattled in the hallway.
Iris felt every eye in the room searching for something. She felt her sleeve against her wrist. Beneath the fabric, an old tattoo seemed to burn.
Atlas gave a short low whine and looked straight at her again. Then the numbers on the monitor shifted. Heart rate 72 became 88.
The pressure dipped. Nobody else noticed. Iris did.
She took one slow step toward the tape and lifted her hands, palms open, low and quiet.”Atlas,” she said softly. The dog’s head snapped toward her. The room gasped.
