Truth Beneath the Pulse
"Miss Yana, bringing your father for a check-up?"
Amara Ravenswood's voice flowed gently, like a calm stream slipping through stone. Her fingers still rested lightly on the patient's wrist, steady and precise, yet her gaze had already lifted—warm, attentive, quietly welcoming.
Yana inclined her head slightly.
"Yes, we'd like to see Senior Divine Doctor Ravenswood. Is he available?"
Her tone remained respectful, but beneath it lingered something tighter—an urgency she could not fully hide.
Amara's lips curved into a soft smile. She gestured toward the back with effortless grace, her posture relaxed, composed.
"Grandpa is in the back reading. You can go ahead."
The faint scent of herbs lingered in the air—earthy, calming, grounding the restless edge in Yana's chest.
"Thank you."
Yana didn't hesitate.
