8:15 AM – St. Ignatius Hospital, Reception
Rebecca Barker flashed her badge at the receptionist, her sharp blue eyes scanning the bustling lobby. "Detective Barker. I need to speak with Dr. Benjamin Moore."
The receptionist—a young woman with tired eyes—clicked through her computer. "Dr. Moore is in surgery. You'll have to wait."
Rebecca's jaw tightened. "How long?"
"Another hour, maybe two."
Rebecca exhaled through her nose. Perfect. She pulled out a notepad. "In the meantime, mind if I ask a few questions?"
The receptionist hesitated. "About…?"
"About Dr. Moore."
The woman's expression shuttered. "I—I don't know anything."
Bullshit. Rebecca leaned in. "Funny. Everyone suddenly forgets everything when his name comes up."
Operating Room 2 – 9:30 AM
Benjamin's hands moved with practiced precision, suturing the incision he'd just made. A routine gallbladder removal—simple, almost boring.
Snip. Stitch. Tie.
The patient, a middle-aged man, was stable. Everything was textbook.
Then—
A flicker.
Benjamin's fingers stilled.
There, beneath the liver—a black haze, thin but unmistakable.
Not now. Not here.
"Lisa," he said, voice steady. "Get me a hepatology consult. Now."
Lisa Chen blinked. "But—the surgery's done. His liver enzymes were normal pre-op—"
"Just do it."
The nurses exchanged glances but obeyed.
As they wheeled the patient out, Benjamin peeled off his gloves, his mind racing. I didn't imagine that. It was there.
He needed to see the hepatologist himself.
10:45 AM – Hepatology Department
Dr. Rajiv Mehta, the liver specialist, frowned at the chart. "You're sure?"
Benjamin crossed his arms. "Run the tests."
Mehta sighed but ordered an ultrasound and LFTs.
As they waited, Benjamin's phone buzzed. A text from Jack:
"Cop's asking about you. Hot one. Looks like she wants to cuff you."
Benjamin smirked. "Tell her I'm into roleplay."
Then the results came back.
Mehta's face paled. "Early-stage hepatic angiosarcoma. Rare as hell. How the fuck did you spot this?"
Benjamin didn't answer.
Because across the room, through the glass door—
Rebecca Barker was watching him.
11:30 AM – Benjamin's Office
Rebecca didn't sit. She stood in front of his desk, arms crossed, her badge gleaming under the fluorescent lights.
"Dr. Moore."
"Detective." Benjamin leaned back in his chair, grinning. "To what do I owe the pleasure? Need a physical?"
Her eyes narrowed. "Cut the crap. I'm here about Harold Greer. And Daniel Hartwell. And half a dozen other patients who died exactly when you said they would."
Benjamin's smile didn't waver. "Ah. The psychic surgeon theory. My favorite."
"People don't just predict death, Doctor. Not like this."
"Maybe they don't pay attention." He steepled his fingers. "Tell me, Detective—did you know that in 1347, when the Black Death hit Venice, the doctors were the first to notice the patterns? The swollen lymph nodes, the fever. The smell. Everyone else called it witchcraft. But the doctors? They saw it."
Rebecca's lip curled. "Are you comparing yourself to plague doctors now?"
"I'm saying what's obvious to some is invisible to others." He leaned forward. "Prove I've done something wrong. Go ahead."
Her fingers twitched. "I will."
Then—
BOOM.
The explosion rattled the windows.
Rebecca spun toward the sound—the police van she'd arrived in was engulfed in flames.
A ragged old man stood in the street, screaming:
"YOU DIDN'T LISTEN! MY SON IS DEAD BECAUSE OF YOU!"
Rebecca was out the door before Benjamin could blink.
But he didn't follow.
Because the flames—
They weren't orange.
They were blue.
And across the street, a woman in a red coat smiled, her outline shimmering with the same eerie haze.
Benjamin's breath caught.
What the hell?
A knock at his door. A young attendant poked his head in, holding a coffee. "Uh, Dr. Moore? Your espresso."
Benjamin didn't look away from the window. "What color are those flame?"
The attendant blinked. "…Orange?"
Benjamin's pulse spiked.
Only I can see it