The first thing I did after Brother Alaric left was tighten the rules.
Not on paper—they were already strong—but in practice.
I arrived at the clinic earlier than usual and posted a revised notice beside the door, written in clear, straightforward text:
Medical Support – Restricted Access
Consent Required. Coercion Prohibited.
Any attempt to bypass protocols will result in denial of service.
Lyra read it twice, then scoffed. "Bold of you to think that'll stop anyone."
"It's not for them," I said, checking the schedule. "It's for me."
She tilted her head. "You're worried you'll give in."
"I'm worried someone will try to make me," I replied.
She shrugged. "Fair."
The morning list was long—too long. There were names I didn't recognize and a few I did. Some were marked with minor injuries that could wait days without issue.
I canceled half of them.
Not postponed. Canceled.
Lyra watched from her stool near the shelves, legs swinging. "You're going to make enemies."
"I already have them," I said. "I'm just choosing which ones."
The first patient I accepted was a second-year from Elemental Studies with backlash burns on his forearms—real injuries from supervised casting. He signed the forms without a fuss, followed instructions, and left healed and thankful.
Simple.
The second was not.
She arrived with two attendants wearing the colors of a minor noble house. Her posture was casual and entitled. She glanced around the clinic as if judging its value rather than respecting its purpose.
"I have an appointment," she said, already moving toward the bed.
I held up a hand. "Consent form first."
Her lips curled into a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "I know your… requirements."
"Then you'll know the paperwork," I replied evenly.
She skimmed the pages without reading, then slid them back across the desk unsigned.
"My time is limited," she said. "Let's not waste it."
I closed the binder.
"I'm refusing the case," I said.
The attendants stiffened.
Her smile disappeared. "Do you know who I am?"
"Yes," I said. "And that makes no difference."
She stared at me in disbelief. "You think you can—"
"I know I can," I cut in calmly. "You're trying to bypass consent. That ends the conversation."
One of the attendants stepped forward. "Perhaps a donation to the academy—"
"Out," I said.
The word carried more weight than I meant. The privacy wards hummed in response to my tone. The glow beneath my palms flickered—subtle, but noticeable.
The noblewoman turned crimson. "You'll regret this."
"Possibly," I said. "But not today."
She stormed out.
Lyra whistled low. "That was impressive."
"It was necessary," I said.
"Same thing," she replied.
The system chimed softly.
[Boundary Enforced]
[Patient Rapport (Self): +2]
[Healing Stability Improved]
I ignored it.
By midday, word had spread.
Requests slowed—not because interest waned, but because uncertainty replaced confidence. Students whispered before approaching the door. Some turned away on their own.
Good.
That was the point.
Seraphina arrived just after lunch, as prompt as ever. She paused at the posted notice, reading it carefully before knocking.
I opened the door.
"You've tightened access," she observed.
"Yes," I said.
She nodded once. "Smart."
Her gaze flicked briefly down the corridor, then back to me. "There are rumors."
"There always are."
"These are specific," she said. "About refusals."
I stepped aside to let her in. "I refuse anyone who doesn't respect the process."
"And if that costs you support?" she asked.
"Then the support was never real."
She studied me for a long moment, then said quietly, "That answer will anger powerful people."
"I'm aware."
She moved toward the bed and sat without prompting, posture rigid as always.
"I didn't come for treatment today," she said.
I paused. "Then why are you here?"
"Because the Church observer requested my presence," she replied coolly. "Tomorrow."
My jaw tightened. "For what purpose?"
"To ask questions," she said. "About you."
Silence settled between us.
"What will you tell him?" I asked.
"The truth," she said. "That you are professional. That you do not indulge. That you do not coerce."
She met my eyes. "And that you are dangerous to people who rely on control."
I exhaled slowly. "Thank you."
She nodded. "It aligns with my interests."
As she stood to leave, she hesitated.
"The residual sensation remains," she said quietly. "Less intrusive. More… focused."
"That's expected," I replied. "Your body is recalibrating."
She nodded, then added, "If he asks whether you enjoy this work… I won't answer for you."
"I wouldn't ask you to."
She left.
The afternoon brought another test.
A third-year Support Arts student—one of the traditional healers—arrived with a minor ailment that any light mage could fix. He signed the forms, answered the questions, and lay back on the bed with a smug little smile.
"Go on," he said. "Let's see it."
I felt it immediately—the expectation, the voyeurism, the desire to provoke.
I closed the binder.
"No," I said.
He blinked. "What?"
"You don't need me," I replied. "And you don't respect the process. Session denied."
His smile hardened. "You're afraid."
"I'm selective," I said.
He sat up sharply. "You can't refuse everyone who challenges you."
"I can," I said calmly. "And I will."
He left in a rage.
Lyra waited until the door shut before clapping once. "Three for three. You're on a roll."
"I'm setting a precedent," I said.
"Good," she replied. "Precedents scare institutions."
As dusk settled, Valentina stopped by without ceremony. She surveyed the clinic—the calm, the order, the absence of chaos—and nodded once.
"You've made your position clear," she said.
"Will it hold?" I asked.
"For now," she replied. "The observer is watching patterns. Today, you gave him one."
She turned to Lyra. "And you."
Lyra straightened. "Me?"
"You'll assist officially," Valentina said. "Documentation. Curse analysis. No experiments without approval."
Lyra's eyes widened. "I get a badge?"
"No."
"Still yes," Lyra said happily.
Valentina looked back at me. "Tomorrow, Brother Alaric will request to observe a session. He will expect you to bend."
"I won't," I said.
"I know," she replied. "That's why this works."
After she left, the clinic felt quieter than it had all day.
Lyra hopped off her stool. "You're doing the right thing, you know."
"I hope so," I said.
She paused at the door. "For what it's worth… if anyone tries to push you, I bite."
"I'll keep that in mind."
When the wards sealed and the lights dimmed, I sat alone at the desk and reviewed the day's notes.
Refusals logged. Boundaries enforced. No compromises made.
The system chimed one last time.
[Professional Integrity Recognized]
[External Pressure Increasing]
[Next Evaluation Imminent]
I leaned back, staring at the ceiling.
Tomorrow, the Church would watch more closely.
But tonight, at least, I could say this:
I had not crossed a line I couldn't uncross.
And if the world wanted to test how far it could push me, it would have to learn—slowly—that I wasn't here to be used.
I was here to heal.
On my terms.