Chapter 9: The Woman in White
The first thing I noticed about her was the silence.
Not just the way she moved — graceful, sure-footed — but the way the world seemed to hush around her. Like even the air respected her presence.
She wore a white coat, tailored and sharp, as she stepped into the flower shop I happened to be browsing. Istanbul's light filtered through the window, casting soft golden halos around the lilies. She didn't look at the flowers. She looked at me.
And smiled like we were old friends.
"Tony Smitty."
I set the violet I'd been inspecting back in its pot. "You're early. Favor's not due for another six months."
"I'm not here to spin the Wheel."
That gave me pause. Most people never come back unless the debt is due — or their fear has become unbearable. But she looked serene. Curious, even.
She extended a hand. "Elira Morane."
I knew the name. World-renowned surgeon. Humanitarian. She'd saved thousands of lives with hands steadier than most men's souls. Her favor had been a simple one: the ability to never make a fatal mistake in surgery.
Not fame. Not money. Just precision.
"I remember," I said. "You asked for certainty."
"I got it," she said. "And it's been... good. Better than I imagined."
"So what brings you here?"
She glanced at the door, then back at me. "I want to talk."
---
We sat on a bench near the ferry terminal, watching seagulls argue over crumbs. She sipped from a paper cup of tea. I didn't drink mine.
"Do you ever regret it?" she asked.
"The curse?"
She nodded.
"Sometimes," I said. "But regrets don't undo contracts."
"I don't mean the Wheel. I mean you. Living like this."
I watched the boats drift through the Bosphorus, white trails in the dark water.
"There's no second chance for me. No reset. I do what I do because no one else can."
"And does that bring you peace?"
I laughed. "Peace is for people with endings."
She was quiet a moment. Then said, "You look tired."
"I am."
She placed her hand lightly over mine. It was warm. Firm. No magic. No favor. Just human.
"You gave me time to save people," she said. "I'll always be grateful."
"Let's see if you say that when the Wheel spins."
She smiled. "Maybe. But I've made my peace with whatever it gives. I just wanted you to know… it mattered. You matter."
I didn't speak. Couldn't. There were no words built for that kind of quiet honesty.
When she left, the sky had dimmed.
I sat there a while longer, letting the cold creep in.
And for the first time in years, I wished — truly wished — that when her turn came, the Wheel would show mercy.
Not because of a contract.
But because I wanted one person in this world to walk away whole.