Cassandra laughed, high and brittle. “I defended myself. If you can’t handle a simple hallway without attacking patients, you don’t belong here. I want you fired. Immediately.”
A young transport aide froze nearby, eyes wide, hands gripping a gurney handle like a life raft.
Ava rose slowly, deliberately, her posture straight despite the pain flaring through her hip. Years of carrying wounded bodies had taught her how to stand even when everything hurt.
“Ma’am,” Ava said calmly, “this was an accident. But you put your hands on me.”
“I’ll put my hands wherever I like,” Cassandra snapped. “This is my hospital. You’re here to serve.”
And then the doors at the end of the hall opened.
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