Page 61 of Bone Year

“I’m Senna. I’ll be helping oversee bone year clinical rotations.” Her voice carries across the room, confident and sharp, until her pale yellow eyes land on me. She almost chokes. “You are here to learn. I don’t want anyone trying to prove themselves early on and killing a patient.”

I don’t understand what her problem is until she turns her head. A lavender streak of hair runs down one side, standing out starkly against long black waves. This is the girl from the alcove, the one Malric had pinned against the wall. The one who ran without looking back.

Her face visibly pales when our eyes meet, but she forces herself to continue.

“If any of you disobey an order from your blood lead, you will be removed from the wards. If you endanger a patient through carelessness or arrogance, you will be removed as well.” Her gaze drifts away from me, landing anywhere else. “People die in these beds. I don’t say this to frighten you into compliance. It’s simply the truth.”

Lux glances over at me, narrowing her eyes. She noticed how off that was too.

“You will be separated into two groups of four. Your blood lead will be responsible for you every time you step foot in the patient wards. You will report to them at the start of every shift and defer to their judgment in all things.”

She pulls a folded parchment from her pocket and reads off the first group. “Luxanna, Killian, Jace, and Zuri. You’ll be with me.”

“Damn it, I wanted us to be together,” Lux pouts.

“Sorry, I’m still stuck on the fact your name is Luxanna! I’m supposed to be your best friend here and had no idea.” I blink at her, waiting for an explanation.

She laughs, swatting at my arm, “No one calls me that. I’ll see you later.”

She follows after Killian and Zuri while Jace comes over to me. He pushes the hair back from my face and kisses my forehead, lingering there for a moment.

“You’ve got this,” he whispers.

All I can focus on is Draven standing behind him, watching me with those honey eyes. Something about the way he watches me makes it hard to breathe.

“I know.” I give Jace a sweet smile as he pulls away. He leaves with the others. They disappear through the double doors, and I’m stuck waiting here with Draven. Of course he would end up on my team.

Fuck me.

“Making eyes at the vampire, are we?” Ellavee murmurs quietly, winking as she walks up to wait beside me.

“No,” I say quickly. It sounds guilty even to my own ears.

“It’s okay. I wouldn’t blame you.” She tilts her head, studying Draven across the room. “He’s fucking hot.”

I don’t trust myself to respond.

The door bursts open and another guy rushes in, out of breath, glasses fogging from the cold. It’s Miles from our autopsy team.

Great. I have two assholes and a demon menace in my group.

“Boners.”

I cringe at the voice and turn to see Malric strolling through the double doors, letting them swing shut behind him. His grin spreads slow and wicked as he takes us in, eyes dragging over me and Ellavee before landing on Draven.

Make that three assholes.

“Looks like I’ll be your blood lead this year.” He walks over and pats Draven on the shoulder like they’re old friends, because they are. “This is going to be fun.”

Malric leads us through the double doors and deeper into the second-floor patient wards. The smell of herbs and antiseptic is impossible to ignore. I wish I had a mask to help filter the scent. It reminds me of my father’s clinic, and I quickly bury the memory before it can take root.

“Welcome to the wards. Consider this your orientation.” Malric spreads his arms wide like he’s showing off a fucking palace. “Your home away from home for the foreseeable future.”

The corridor stretches far ahead of us with hallways branching off in different directions. Doors line either side of the space, some open, some closed. Sconces cover the walls, their steady pale-blue flames casting everything in cold light. Menders and ward hands pass by us, some pushing carts of supplies, others walking with purpose toward patient rooms.

“Ten floors,” Malric continues, walking backward so he can watch our faces. His eyes linger on me. “Ground floor is intake. If you’re lucky, that’s where you’ll spend most of your time handling scraped knees and bruised egos, nothing that’ll make you lose your lunch. Anyone getting hurt in the nearby village or on the academy grounds will find themselves there first.”

He stops at a large board mounted on the wall, a directory of sorts, each floor listed with a symbol beside it. “Second floor is minor injuries and recovery. Third is illness and disease. Fourth is serious trauma. Fifth floor handles fissure injuries. Sixth is crawler cases.”