The hallway felt louder today.
Not because people were talking more - but because they were whispering quieter. And whispers travel further when you're the one being talked about. Nora could feel it trailing behind her, curling around doorframes, caught in half-glances and dropped silences. "Ice Scalpel," someone had said. "She made Brenner look like an intern." Another voice, hushed, near the OR: "She's digging for something. You can see it in her eyes."
She didn't react. Not outwardly. But every rumor was a ripple, and ripples eventually become waves.
In the staff lounge, the tension was paper-thin. Coffee steamed in untouched mugs. Laughter sounded forced. When Nora walked in, a junior doctor bumped into a tray and cursed under his breath. Rowan noticed. He always did. He didn't say anything at first - just handed her a file with a slight crease between his brows.
"You were in archives again last night," he said, tone low. Not a question. Not quite an accusation.
Nora didn't blink. "I like to understand the system's pressure points."
Rowan's jaw worked. He wasn't satisfied. Not today.
"You're not just hunting mistakes, Nora." His voice dropped. "You're hunting someone."
Nora met his gaze. Calm. Sharp. She didn't deny it. But she didn't confirm it either.
And that was worse.
Later, in a corridor outside the ICU, two nurses paused mid-conversation when she walked by. One of them - Nora caught the name tag, L. Ramirez - shifted awkwardly and said, "She gives me chills." The other whispered, "Yeah, but did you hear? She saved 304 last week. Cut before the chief even scrubbed in."
The praise didn't matter. The attention did.
Too many eyes. Too much noise.
She needed silence. She needed control.
But control was slipping.
In the file room, Nora opened a digital archive and typed in a search: Case B-17. No matches.
She tried again. Lily Keane. No results.
Then she typed one more word: Brenner. A loading screen. A flash. Then a lock icon.
Access Denied.
Her stomach didn't twist. Her pulse didn't rise.
But her fingers froze on the keyboard.
Someone had locked the file. Recently. That wasn't protocol.
She wasn't the only one looking.
A rustle behind her made her turn.
Elias stood in the doorway, arms crossed, watching her like someone studying a chessboard mid-game.
"Looking for ghosts again, Keane?" he asked softly.
Nora clicked out of the screen. "Just following data patterns."
"Funny," he said. "The system says someone else tried accessing that same file this morning. Wasn't you. Wasn't me."
Silence stretched between them like wire.
"And yet," Elias added, stepping closer, "someone wants it buried again."
Nora didn't speak. Couldn't.
Because for the first time... the shadows weren't just behind her.
They were ahead.